The Heretic
by Uzziel
Summary: After a terrorist bombing at Middleton International, Kim Possible is dragged into the ageold conflict where the Abrahamic brothers are at odds... T for suggestive scenes and violence.
1. Chapter 1

(This story is a work of fiction, and does not exactly reflect the views and/or beliefs of any ethnic or religious group mentioned.)  
  
(This work is dedicated to my lord god YHWH, for with Him, anything is possible.)  
  
The Heretic  
  
1  
  
Kimberly silently took in a deep breath, slowing the conditioned air as it escaped her mouth quietly. Her heart throbbed in her ears when she swooped around the corner, her bruise colored pistol taking the lead. The perpetrator was somewhere within the narrow corridors of the house, probably watching and waiting for her in a corner of a dark room.  
  
Her breath quickened as she quietly approached the last door of the domicile, the squared muzzle of her Glock trained on it like a hawk. All of the rooms prior were empty, the occupants detained by the rest of her team. They turned out to be nothing more than common civilians, stuck in the wrong place at the wrong time at the time of the "raid". The plain slab of thick wood standing in front of her entered into the room, and hopefully the led to the perpetrator.  
  
Her kneecap steadied at chest level, and she angled the sole of her boot parallel to the door, aiming it a little to the right of the brass knob. Her brow furrowed and the snapping of wood, the large door flinging open while she retrained her pistol into the void, quickly silenced the huff of her breath.  
  
She hurried inside, the flashlight in her supporting arm wobbling briefly before her grip steadied the beam. A large circle shinned onto the back wall, revealing to her what the shadows kept hidden. Crouching at the foot of the wall was a person, blond hair capping his head with brown eyes dotting his face. In his tense grip was a bruise colored gun.  
  
*That's the guy! *  
  
"DROP IT!" she barked, pushing her gun forward menacingly. "DROP IT NOW!!"  
  
The mud eyes rolled in their sockets, and the bruise gun fell out of his grip, gently clattering onto the hard carpet.  
  
"KISS THE GROUND!" she narrowed her eyes. "HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!"  
  
Through her racing heartbeat, her ears managed to catch a groan, the character boyish and sarcastic.  
  
"Man," the suspect groaned, "first I'm the distraction, now I'm the suspect! What's next?"  
  
She took an eased step forward a moment after the person belly flopped onto the carpet, cupping his hands over his messy blond hair while the fingers interlaced. The pistol in her grip lowered its angle with every step taken, the muzzle trained down when she was on top of the suspect--  
  
Something touched the back of her head, cold and hard. Her eyes grew as the familiar staccato of clicks met her ears.  
  
*Oh crap.! *  
  
*Click. *  
  
"Congratulations, Ms. Possible." The irritating voice of her instructor said mockingly. "You're dead."  
  
"Indeed, sir." she frowned. "Yes indeed."  
  
She winced, her eyelids slamming shut when the main house lights suddenly flickered on. The object relinquished itself from the back of her head, and out from the corner of her eyes walked a stocky man, balding with a semi-automatic pistol in his grasp.  
  
"Possible:" he said flatly, "where was your blind spot?"  
  
"The corners, sir." She looked down.  
  
"And that's why you're dead, Possible." He stated. "Though you did have good entry and you kept the suspect under control, it doesn't matter when you have a bullet in your brain."  
  
".Yes sir." She sighed, eyes rolling.  
  
"Don't take that tone with me, young lady!" he growled, tone dropping to an authoritative pitch. "I wouldn't loose one wink of sleep if I threw you out on your ass!"  
  
"I know, sir." She lifted her head back onto her shoulders properly. "I know."  
  
"Ms. Possible," he began. again, "the government has never supported your ventures. The only reason you got into the law enforcement course was thanks to that fighting Irish Hobble back in Middleton."  
  
"Officer Hobble and the rest of the MPD thought that the STS was perfect for me." She said.  
  
"I don't give a damn what that Mick said!" he growled. "Do you get me?"  
  
"Hmm. yes sir." She said bitterly.  
  
"Good." He nodded. "Your scheduled training week is over. Go home. or wherever you two bunked."  
  
The stocky instructor walked out of the room, huffing and wheezing like a dying animal with every step. It was amazing how a guy of that shape and temperament ever got a job at this place.  
  
"You okay, Ron?" she slipped the bruise gun back into the holster.  
  
"No, you damaged my ego!" he moaned, shuffling to his feet. "Why do I always have to be the doormat of this duo?"  
  
"Couldn't tell you." She said. "Maybe it's your purpose or something?"  
  
"Sure, KP." He rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say."  
  
He pressed his hands to the small of his back, and she cringed when she heard every vertebra pop back into proper alignment.  
  
"I can't believe that you actually came with me for this." She folded her sleeved arms. "I'd thought you'd be busy catching up on some sleep."  
  
"And miss out on some serious weapons training?" he blinked quizzically. "You got to be joking."  
  
"What's with men and guns?" she asked. "See them as an extension of your manhood or something?"  
  
"Nope!" he shook his head. "I just like the way they look."  
  
"Boys and their toys." she said dismissively. "Boys and their toys."  
  
She unfolded her arms, letting the left dangle naturally by her side while she glanced at her watch. It was half past six, and the through the nearby slit that was the window, the sun was beginning its descent toward the Appalachians.  
  
"We'd better go, Ron." She yawned. "I can't stand another minute in this mock-up."  
  
"I hear that." He smiled warmly. "I don't ever want the people back home to see that Ron Stoppable was floored."  
  
"But on every mission, you are floored." She giggled. "Come on, we got to return this stuff back to the police."  
  
"What?" he blinked. "I thought you bought these?"  
  
"Patrol-suits, combat boots, and tactical vests?" she cocked an eyebrow. "So not!"  
  
"Right." he slapped his forehead. "I'm with the fashion queen after all."  
  
"I'm *so* not the fashion queen!" she said flatly.  
  
"So, so!" he pressed.  
  
"Shut up, Ron." she gently punched him in the shoulder. She turned on her boots and she walked for the door, not before Ron had to throw in one more shot.  
  
"Oh--!" he mockingly cried. "Save me! The fashion queen's abusing her power!"  
  
***  
  
The drive back to the hotel was a quiet one, except for the radio blaring out of the speakers of the rental car. She could see Ron out of the corner of her busy eyes, slouching in the passenger seat, legs crossed with his chin "resting" against the edge of the seat belt's shoulder belt. She giggled softly as Ron rambled on unconsciously. She wasn't sure what the heck was going on in the dreams, but whatever the sleep talker had to say, it surely had to do something with chimps.  
  
"Yes. Mr. Bobo!" he mumbled incoherently. "I would like. a backrub."  
  
Kim snickered under her breath.  
  
Her eyes darted back and forth between the busy dashboard and the darkening road, keeping in check the slight movements between her hands and foot. She didn't know how much of a mental hassle driving could be when she first started; it was amazing how she passed Barkin's test the second time around. with the help of a talking SUV of course.  
  
A lane of asphalt curved away from the main freeway, the exit to the hotel. She easily slapped the blinker control up, the annoying clicking of the turn signal broadcasting her move to the surrounding people. Checking her mirrors carefully and quickly stealing a glance over her shoulder, she veered onto the exit perfectly, easing onto the brake in the deceleration lane. The warm glow of the Hotel 6 flooded her tired eyes, almost blinding her from the red light at the intersection.  
  
*Note to self: * she knocked her head against the headrest, *don't get distracted! *  
  
She shook her head just before the light turned green, replacing her shoe back on the gas and the car lurched forward. As she flipped on the right blinker, veering into the turn lane for the hotel lot, she was grateful that the rental car wasn't a standard. Tara had shown her the basics of shifting and working the clutch at her mother's request, but she still didn't understand it.  
  
*Two feet, three pedals. Yuck! *  
  
The compact rolled easily into the parking space at the front of the building, the momentum pushing her forward gently as the vehicle came to a complete stop. The buckle clicked, and the restraint whipped across her body almost slapping her in the face.  
  
"Wake up, Ron." She yawned. "We're here."  
  
"No chimp.!" he moaned. "No monkey touch there! .It's private!"  
  
"Ron!" she narrowed her tired eyes. "Wake up!"  
  
"Huh--what?" he shook awake gently. "Is the chimp gone?"  
  
"Yes, monkey man." she rolled her eyes. "We're at the hotel."  
  
"Oh!" he blinked. "Right. Damn chimps! First they want to give you a massage, next thing you know they're going straight for your fly!"  
  
A kink formed in her eyebrow, a rather large one. "Uh. yeah." She said. "I think."  
  
The door popped open, and she climbed out of the car quickly. The body wobbled when the door snapped back into the frame with a quick shove. Ron made a sound, a kind of surprised yelp, and she heard something hit the asphalt like a sack full of potatoes. She placed her hands onto the slick top of the car, and she stood onto the balls of her feet. From the angle, she could see a mat of blonde, messy hair resting upon the asphalt.  
  
"Ron," she moaned, "quit playing around!"  
  
"I'm." he yawned, "not playing."  
  
"Come on!" her hands met her hips. "Get up."  
  
"Sure thing, KP." He said quietly. "Just give me five minutes."  
  
"Okay then." She shook her head. "It's a shame too. I'm I going to have to eat the takeout food all by myself?"  
  
Suddenly the blond head popped out above the car roof, brown eyes wide open. "Don't be touching my tacos, Kim!"  
  
"Oh?" she crossed her arms defiantly. "Who's going to make me?"  
  
Without retort, the blond was already off for the hotel room, the glass doors moving out of the way with a slam. She walked calmly towards the swinging glass panes, gently giving the flat rectangle in her Capri pocket a slight pat. She'd love to see the look on the boy's face when he realized that he didn't have the door card.  
  
*Poor boy.*  
  
***  
  
The world to Ron looked overturned as he watched the TV set on his back, the bedsprings giving way to his body. His head drooped at the foot of the bed, the back of the head drooping over the edge. There was nothing to watch on the local channels, just reruns of tired shows and the 24-hour news channels. He figured that watching them from a different viewpoint might actually be interesting. It was interesting to say the least, chuckling at the Israeli troops as they seemingly ran on the ceiling in a nameless home in the region.  
  
Israel. boy would he love to go back there again someday. In days long ago, he remembered when he was just a small boy going to school there, learning the language of his people, skipping happily down the Via Dolorosa ironically, and just feeling awestruck at the strong connection he felt to the land the god, YHWH had promised the people ages ago. But as he watched those terrible images on the screen, he wasn't sure that his god's promise would last, given the current state of madness and the international consortium of bullies that everyone called the UN.  
  
*Man. I wish I could do something. But what can I possibly do? It's just not fair: not to Israel, 'Palestine' or the rest of the innocents caught in the crossfire. *  
  
*POP! *  
  
A door creaked somewhere nearby, and he angled his head to see Kimberly step out of the bathroom. It was rare that he got to see her in her pajamas, but he couldn't help how cute she looked in the glow of the television: legs of her light blue sweatpants draping over her legs and a tank top with a little heart that crinkled and swayed with the movement of her breasts.  
  
"Take a picture, Ron." She smirked. "If you can calm yourself that long."  
  
He cocked an eyebrow. "What did I do now?"  
  
She flopped onto her bed on her back, bouncing on the springs briefly before she rolled onto her stomach. Her elbows met the mattress while her chin touched on the palms of her open hands. "It's not what you did per se." She said. "But rather what the rest of you did unconsciously."  
  
"Huh?" he said.  
  
"Feel any discomfort, Ron?" she smirked playfully, devilishly. "Particularly southward?"  
  
Sorely, he lifted his head off of the edge using a hand for support. He felt something tighten in his chest as his eyes locked onto the tent rising on his pajama bottoms. Quickly he flopped onto his stomach, a slight moan escaping his mouth when he felt himself bend at and odd angle.  
  
"He. I suggest you put a leash on that thing." She giggled.  
  
"Pf. sorry!" he smiled sheepishly. "I get carried away sometimes."  
  
"I can see." She said. "I think it's amazing how you can keep that monster under control. mostly."  
  
"You saw it??" he pushed a wad back down his throat. "When?"  
  
"Hello!" she rolled her eyes. "I was in your body for about a day, remember? What, you honestly think I didn't have to take bathroom breaks?"  
  
"Oh. right!" he flicked at his temple. "Duh!"  
  
"And when Josh walked by.." There was a slight wobble in her voice. "That's when things really got uncomfortable. I don't think I have to go beyond that."  
  
"Read you loud and clear, KP." He grinned. So Kim was a typical human after all.  
  
"Question:" she said, and he felt his blood begin to quicken, "why is size so important to a guy? It's not like a girl's body can accommodate all the extra tissue. I mean, I can understand if he's equipped like a pencil but not you, Ron."  
  
".Couldn't tell you why I did it, Kim." He said honestly. He could hear his voice tremble a bit. "I was just curious about enlargement, that's all."  
  
"No you weren't." his eyes grew wide. "You were afraid that a girl like me wouldn't *enjoy* a guy like you, right?"  
  
"Uh."  
  
"Ron," she smiled warmly, easing his heart down a few beats, "you're perfect the way you are. Don't change anything anymore, okay?"  
  
"Okay KP." He took in a deep breath, blowing it out quietly. "I promise."  
  
"Okay, Ron." She smiled. "Oh--and Ron?"  
  
"Yeah, Kim?"  
  
"You got a huge dick!" she laughed hysterically, pressing her hands to her gut in the fit.  
  
He couldn't help but join in, and he felt a little bit of pride swell in his chest. "Yep! Mr. Horse, that's me! Care to give Mr. Horse here a little TLC?"  
  
The laughter quickly died with a pillow square in his face, hard. "Ron!" she exclaimed.  
  
"What?"  
  
***  
  
"So. are those machine thingies out of your body yet?" he asked the undulating shadow that lay in the bed next to him. It was best, they both decided, to simply talk each other to sleep since the news offered nothing but depressing lullabies.  
  
"The neural-machines?" Kim said. "Yeah, they passed about a week ago."  
  
"No surgery.?" he yawned.  
  
"Nope," she replied, "from what Stein told me. They seem to filter back into the bloodstream and let the batteries die, and the body does the rest. I passed them just like I would a kidney stone, and they're biodegradable so no one could use them."  
  
"And that neurotoxin?" he said.  
  
"The machines underwent an extreme apoptosis before they passed out, burning the toxin with it. I just felt feverish for a while."  
  
"Hmm. so that's why you were out for a couple days." He thought aloud sleepily. "So. how's the old warhorse doing?"  
  
"Which one?"  
  
"Stein--Stein." He stuttered. "Didn't he go blind a few weeks ago?"  
  
"No." she explained. "The medics saved his sight, most of it anyway. He does need glasses now though."  
  
"That sucks. He must be crushed."  
  
"Yeah, he stuck doing gear head work for the squadron again. It's a shame too, he loved flying more than anything."  
  
"Should have joined the Air Force." He noted.  
  
"Yeah," he could see the ovoid shadow nod, "but we probably wouldn't be alive today if he did."  
  
"Really?" he blinked. "Why's that?"  
  
"Don't be so dense, Ron." The ovoid shook side to side briefly.  
  
"Okay." he said. "But how's the scar?"  
  
"What scar?"  
  
"The one beside your abs." He pointed to the area of shadow accordingly. "Where you got stabbed, remember?"  
  
"Ugh. I could I forget?" she shivered. He felt her soft fingers wrap around his own and she pulled the limb closer. It looked like the shadow itself enveloped him and pulled him in. On the pads of the tips of his fingers, he felt her soft flesh. "Do you feel it?"  
  
He moved the digits around the soft texture. He felt nothing abnormal ran into his fingers, not that small ones had a different texture than a normal patch.  
  
"No. I don't." he said. "Where is it?"  
  
"That's the idea, Ron." She explained. "You didn't know how much massaging and tubes of Scar-Zone it took to get rid of it."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"You didn't expect me to cheerlead with Ayer's Rock on my belly, do you?" she said. "Bonnie wouldn't let me hear the end of it!"  
  
"I thought your relationship with Bonnie was improving," he felt a kink form in his eyebrow, "unless of course, you were lying."  
  
"It is," she nodded, "but we give each other cheap shots now and again for laughs. Like about a week ago, she bought those onyx stiletto boots I irked you about. Her first steps in them were like a sloshed-out drunkard, and she fell on her face not long after. I told her that those heels were too high for her, but she said I was jealous that I couldn't fit in them. I thought she called me Bigfoot but I didn't care to remember."  
  
"That's mean." He said.  
  
"Well, I'm a size bigger than she is."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Don't worry about Bonnie." She said. "We're getting along fine. She's on a little road trip right now, last I checked."  
  
"How's Tara doing?"  
  
"Not sure exactly." She said. "Probably mastering the stick-shift in her dad's pick-up truck. What a piece of junk that thing is. Amazing it still runs!"  
  
"I thought she'd be with that Korean kid we met back on Escutcheon."  
  
"Yeah, she's with him too." She added. "Those two maybe Christian, but they can't seem to keep their hands off each other. Every time I see them, I catch them in the middle of a make-out session when they're not practicing that Tae Kwon Do stuff."  
  
"Tae Kwon Do?" he blinked. "I thought he studied Hapkido."  
  
"Is there a difference?"  
  
"How should I know?" He shrugged. "They're both Korean, both deadly, and that's good enough for me."  
  
"Yeah." She said. "I think it's amazing how he got off the hook that easily."  
  
"Yep."  
  
"Listen Ron," she said, "it's about 10:30 and we got to get to bed. Our flight back to Middleton leaves about 10-sharp."  
  
"Right." He nodded. "The alarm clock set?"  
  
"For 5:45AM." She continued. "Did you pack everything?"  
  
"Yeah." He said. "Everything but these pajamas and tomorrow's attire."  
  
"Great, 'cause we're leaving at 6 o'clock on the dot."  
  
"What about taking an hour for your hair?" he snickered.  
  
"I do not take an hour!" she said.  
  
"Do too!"  
  
"Not!"  
  
"Too!"  
  
"Not!"  
  
"Too times infinity!" he laughed. No one can beat "times infinity".  
  
"Not times infinity," she exclaimed, "plus one!"  
  
"Aw man!" he moaned. Ron Stoppable floored yet again for the billionth time.  
  
***  
  
The flight back to Middleton was a smooth one. Kim easily returned the rental car back to the Hertz dealership while Ron checked their bags. Thankfully they only carried carry-on sized bags, deflated to half their size with the space saver bags. Measly security had no problem with their luggage, though they did have their hands full with the traveling hunter behind them with his rifle case in hand. She saw the hunter again while they boarded the Boeing, defeated and mumbling under his breath that security had to confiscate his rounds regardless of all the rules he followed to a tee.  
  
"Make sure you bring an accurate rifle, my friend." He mumbled to his friend a person behind. She couldn't help but snigger.  
  
Through the typical hustle and bustle of the Middleton Airport, she and Ron managed to squeeze their way to the carpool with carry-on baggage wheeling behind. The many lanes of the pools were congested with the daily traffic, people arriving and departing, meeting themselves coming and going at an announcement's notice. She wasn't sure, but she thought her eyes caught a fleeting glimpse of the frizzy, broad ponytail bouncing its way toward a gate.  
  
*Oh yeah. Monique is leaving for St. Croix today. Duh! *  
  
"Do you see the Jaguar, Ron?" the ridge of her hand met the bottom of her crown, a makeshift sun visor. "You know, the one you 'punched a hole' in?"  
  
"For the last time Kim," he growled beside her, "I didn't punch that hole!"  
  
"Yeah, I know those 'Beebe' robots did the damage, but it's still fun watching you squirm about it."  
  
"I'm your distraction, your suspect, and your emotional punching bag." His head shook out of the corner of her searching eyes. "I'm Ron Stoppable, and I can do anything!"  
  
She laughed. "Ha-ha.! Of course you're not, you're my best friend."  
  
"Then why am I your distraction then?" he pressed.  
  
"Ron, let's face It." She said. "Your combat skills and overall sneakiness are sorely lacking. Do you honestly think that you can sneak past Shego-and-company during a shit storm?"  
  
"No, but and neither can you 'cause you wouldn't have me floundering like a red herring all the time." He argued gently.  
  
"Hmm." she pondered aloud, "this is true."  
  
"See," he said lively, "this is why you need me. I got your back."  
  
"I never said that I didn't need you, Ron." She said. "And I'm not exactly the type who can steal the scene like you do."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Through several rows of clogged traffic, a glint of golden brown caught her eye dead on. From the angle, she could make out a sliver glint alongside it, its shape ovoid like the grill at the front.  
  
"I think I see them, Ron." She pointed at the glaring dot, blinding her. "Way out in the last row. Do you see them?"  
  
"Yeah." he said in a quiet drawl, picking up the pace a moment later, "--I do. Man, they're way out there too."  
  
"Not surprising, given the traffic. Come on." She dropped a few inches when she stepped off of the curb. The baggage waggled in her hand, and she heard the plastic wheels smack onto the pavement. "Let's not make them wait any longer."  
  
"I hear that!"  
  
The blaring horns and screeching tires rang out at them like a manic- depressive choir as they made for the blinding glint in the distance, squeezing through tiny crevices between parked cars and speeding through open spaces. She smiled inwardly as the last median seemingly passed under her. It was like she was in a living game of Frogger.  
  
*Except I won't re-spawn if I bought the farm.*  
  
"Hello family!" she grinned when the whole glint took a solid shape, the shape of the family golden-brown Jaguar.  
  
The passenger clunked as it popped open. Underneath the foil piece a pair of feet touched down upon the smooth pavement, adorned with purple pumps with the heels about an inch high. Folding out from behind the door came the tall, slender woman that she called her mother, with the same bright orange hair capping her head.  
  
"Kimmie!" the woman called. She could just barely hear over the noisy rolling of her bag wheels. "Over here!"  
  
"I see you, Mom!" she slowed her pace to a steady walk. "I'm coming."  
  
"And me too!" Ron called from behind as she approached the sedan. The trunk released with a *pop*, quickly silenced by the rolling of the bag wheels as she rolled it over to the back of the car. The foil piece opened wide for her, and she tossed the bag in with a huff, slamming the lid closed after Ron threw his carrier in alongside.  
  
"It's great to have you home again." Her mother threw her slender arms around her body. "It gets lonely around here without you."  
  
She returned the embrace, placing the palms of her hands upon the woman's back, pressing into the firm cloth. "So not the drama, Mom." She said. "You got the tweebs, you know."  
  
"Yeah," she laughed, "When they're not trashing the house or blowing something up in the yard."  
  
"So what's the sitch?" she asked. "Where are Dad and the Tweebs?"  
  
"Dad's stuck at work and your brothers are at a friend's." the woman explained. "I bet you two are hungry, right? I haven't eaten since last night."  
  
"Food?" the blond interjected. "You bet I can! That slab the airline called a steak was terrible."  
  
"As you can see," she giggled, "Ron's undecided but I can go for some takeout."  
  
"Oh--" the boy said, "six tacos and a burrito at Bueno Nacho for only four bucks!"  
  
"I think Ron would like Chinese," she smirked playfully at the blond, frowning and dropping his gaze to the cement, "don't you agree, Mom?"  
  
"I think he does too!" she grinned as she climbed back into the passenger seat. "Well I guess that settles it then. Care to take the wheel, Kim?"  
  
"Pf." she said dismissively, "after a week in that car you just had to pick out? No thanks!"  
  
"Aw." she climbed awkwardly over the center console, almost crawling on it like a baby, "I think you look cute in the Taurus."  
  
"In that granny car?" her body folded into the passenger seat, guiding the door back into the frame strongly-yet-gently. Her dad always threw a fit every timed she slammed the door. "Please."  
  
"The Ford wasn't so bad, was it?" the woman pinched the key, and six cylinders yelled at her heatedly with a brief vroom at the twist of her wrist. "At least it wasn't a Mercury."  
  
"I wanted a Mustang." Her voice was drowned out as the back door slammed back into the frame. The car wobbled gently as the boy shuffled his rump to the middle. "Ron!" she said loudly. "Don't slam the door."  
  
"I told you all the sports cars available were standard." The sound of air being squished out met her ears, and something in the car's inner workings made a faint *clunk* when the woman jiggled the shifter down a few notches. The car began to slowly creep out into the lane. "I seen the way you work a stick, Kim. You still got a heavy foot."  
  
"Do not--!"  
  
--*KA--BOOM!! *  
  
Her hands clapped over her ears tightly, clamping her eyes shut as pain wrapped tightly around her brain. The tires let out a quick, whining screech that only tightened the squeeze. She felt the seat beneath her shift to the right as her body wrenched to the left violently, and the car wobbled as if something behind her toppled over. Her hair wisped against her mother's clothes before the piece of machinery stopped completely.  
  
"Ugh." she poked a finger in her ear, wincing slightly as she wiggled it about. She pulled the digit out and brought it over to her opening eyes. Thankfully, they didn't catch the finger with red. "Everyone okay?"  
  
"Yeah." Ron moaned from behind. and below. She pressed her palm to her crown, turning her head toward the left shoulder. On the uneven floor laid the blond, capsized with his right arm wrapped haphazardly around his chest, pinched between the floor and his torso. "Everything's sore, but it isn't broken."  
  
She pulled her eyes away from him and trained them on her mother. The purple-clad woman sat tensely, eyes wide open with her fingers strangling the leather of the wheel, and both her legs flexed.  
  
"You okay, Mom?" she asked.  
  
The woman closed her eyes slowly, taking in a long deep breath and gradually letting it out.  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine." The mother blinked. Taking her time, she jittered the shifter back to the top. "A little rattled though. Give me a few minutes. Can't drive on pins and needles."  
  
"What the heck happened?" she gazed her window. Running through the glass were cracks, heavily concentrated at the back and sprawling distantly out to the windshield. She touched the pads of her fingertips to the window, feeling the undulation as they ran across its surface. "Did a plane explode or something--!"  
  
Through the web-like glass, she caught the blackness of the rearview mirror. The glass wasn't punched out. But the thick darkness seemed to swirl and morph in itself, shifting its shade from black to gray every few seconds, seemingly subjugated by the wind like smoke. a very black smoke.  
  
*Oh my God!! *  
  
The horrible screams began.. 


	2. Chapter 2

2  
  
".At approximately 1:15 this afternoon," the anchorman on the big screen read from his blue papers of whatnot, "flight 707 leaving for St. Croix has exploded at the Middleton Airport, throwing local police and security in a frenzy. Currently EMS and HAZMAT teams are on the scene, treating the injured and decontaminating the people in the event that a dirty bomb has been detonated. Fortunately, there have been no reported deaths thus far.  
  
"Incidentally, this tragedy happened just days after the bizarre murder of multibillionaire Philippe Bullion, found strangled as he relaxed in his Jacuzzi. When confronted with this brutal murder, fellow multibillionaire Senor Senior Senior had no comment. The police still have no suspects in the case--"  
  
The anchorman shrank; the huge image compacted into a tiny dot on the screen as Kim thumbed the power button. The long piece of plastic was engulfed by the cushy fabric of the couch as she let it arc in the air. She had heard enough. Was anything safe anymore in the world? Even that drop-dead model of a scientist, Vivian, had her new "Tank Man" robot stolen from the Robot Rumble a few hours prior to the blast.  
  
"Kim." Her mother said gently. She turned to the purple woman on the sofa sitting attentively, the slender fingers of one arm questing for the remote blindly. "I know you're sad about what happened this afternoon, but you couldn't have done anything."  
  
"Yeah Mom." She kicked her legs out from under her. There was a small *poof* when her rump crashed into the firm pillow below. Her arms folded across her chest. "I know. But Monique was supposed to be on that flight. Ugh--I hope she's okay."  
  
"I bet she's fine, Kimmie." Her mother said reassuringly. "You heard the man. There haven't been any deaths reported."  
  
"Yeah." her lips pressed into a thin line. "But I can't shake the feeling that there's something more to this 'accident'. What if that Family bunch is up to their old tricks?"  
  
"You're just being paranoid." The mother said. "Last I called, you put the old man in his place. though it's six feet deep in Arlington."  
  
"I hope so." She rocked her body gently back and forth, letting her mother's words sink into her unnerved skin. "But we just have to pray that their next leader isn't a bigger threat than the geezer was."  
  
"That group probably is unraveling as we speak, Kim." Her mother said. "Most likely, it'll tear itself apart under its own weight and the troops will round them up. So don't worry about it."  
  
"Okay Mom."  
  
"How was that course in Virginia?" the woman asked. "Was it worth the money spent and the strings pulled?"  
  
"Yeah." she smiled weakly. "I can actually use a gun the way a military man should. Give me anything, I can disassemble and reassemble it without much of a problem. I can even drive like a Secret Service agent too."  
  
The woman nodded. "Really?"  
  
"Yep!" she smiled. "Throw any wheelman at me, and I can drive circles around them."  
  
"Impressive." The mother said; her face twisted in an apprehensive look. "I think. That reminds me, I'd better talk to your father again about that pistol we're getting."  
  
"You guys are getting a gun?" she blinked. "But you hate guns. Why change now?"  
  
"Well. after that incident back on Escutcheon, and how we found our house in shambles when we came home," the woman began, "your father and I would feel a little safer if had some form of protection. We have the second amendment, and we're invoking it."  
  
"Aren't you afraid that the tweebs will find it?" she inquired. "You wouldn't want to find one of them dead."  
  
"Yeah that's always a possibility." The mother said quietly. "But we're keeping it under lock and key 24/7. Plus we're putting it in a safe place, one we're pretty sure they're not going to look."  
  
"Oh. I guess it's better than just having a phone for defense." She nodded halfheartedly. As long as she didn't find it in the vegetable drawer, she was fine with it.  
  
"My thoughts exactly." The woman stood up, walking for the kitchen. "I'd better check on the stew. Oh--and Kimmie?"  
  
"Yeah?" on the carpet she laid on her stomach, chin resting on her palms with her feet dangling in the air.  
  
"When it comes to talking with your brothers," the mother stated, "we don't have a gun okay?"  
  
"Right."  
  
"Good--" From the kitchen door, strange sounds erupted from the inside the room. She wasn't sure, but it sounded like a horde of popping bubbles, tiny splashes being quelled by loud steaming sizzles. The orange- capped woman spun on her heels, shooting through the portal with the hurried clacks of her shoes following her. "Aw crap! The broth!"  
  
Kim let out a quick laugh, the hilariousness quickly stifled by the chirping of her PDA. Her fingers wiggled themselves into the cramped Capri pocket, wrapping around the oddly shaped object the second they touched smooth plastic. With a huff, the device was free of her pants, and her other forefinger punched in the button snuggled in between the encircling, pentagonal ones. The PDA let out a soft crackle of static, the LCD stuck in a brief snowstorm before the Webmaster's mug managed to filter in, the sight of his room crawling across the blizzard till it filled the whole screen.  
  
"Hi Wade." She said flatly. "Pardon the tone. I kind of had a pessimistic day."  
  
"I hear that." The boy said, taking a sip from the cup in his pudgy hand. "I think I know why you're bummed."  
  
"Humor me," she yawned, "I could use a laugh."  
  
"Hmm." he put a piggy finger to his fatty chin, "let me guess. Her last name is Gibson, and her first name starts with an M. How close am I?"  
  
"Dead on, super genius."  
  
"Hey--I know you're bummed about Monique." He said. "But don't be. She's fine."  
  
"How'd you know that?" she cocked an eyebrow.  
  
"I. called her." He grinned boyishly. "Duh!"  
  
"Oh--thank God!" she breathed in deeply, seemingly feeling an unknown burden lift straight off her shoulders. "I thought she was toast."  
  
"No." he said. "She got a little hanged up at security. Apparently, they mistook her hairdryer for a firearm. She just got past the security checkpoint right before the plane blew sky high."  
  
"She's not hurt?" she inquired.  
  
"She said she's having a slight ringing in the ears, but otherwise fine and disappointed." He explained. "It's a shame too. I heard St. Croix was nice this time of year."  
  
"Better than a British summer?" she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.  
  
"Much." He chuckled. "But this isn't the reason I called."  
  
"It's not?" she said sardonically. "Aw I'm hurt. I thought I had a crushing aficionado. I--I don't know if I can go on..."  
  
"Please Kim," he shook his head, "like a girl like you would go for a guy like me. You're better off with Ron."  
  
"But you'd like a date with Monique, wouldn't you?" she grinned giddily. "Wade, you dog."  
  
"My personal tastes aside," he dismissed, "I've come to tell you that the police have found something at the airport, next to the destroyed plane."  
  
"So what's the sitch?" she asked. "A bomb fragment?"  
  
"No," he said, "it looks like some kind of calling card. It's not a calling card per se, but near the plane was a typed note. It says, 'Time to pay you back for last month, cowards!! See you in hell! A.D."  
  
"AD?" she blinked. Confused at first, but then a sudden realization dawned on her like a new day. AD: Alexander Drazen. It was a shot in the dark, but not even a shot in the dark seemed ridiculous when it came to old man Drazen and his sick family. "That's impossible, he's dead!"  
  
"I know what your thinking, Kim." The boy continued. "But a handwriting analysis at the FBI branch office confirms its Father Drazen's from samples on file. They've also managed to confirm a partial fingerprint on the note: a 16-point match!"  
  
"What are you saying, Wade?" her heart quickened, the Kimmunicator trembling in her strangling grip. She could feel the vital organ thump its way up her throat. "He's alive??"  
  
"You were the one who was there when he bought the farm, right?" he asked.  
  
"I--I don't know!" she said loudly. "I passed out at the sound of gunfire. I only came to about an hour later, off the Escutcheon. Maybe it's a hoax."  
  
"I don't know, Kim." He looked down, shaking his head gently. "We have a piece of valid evidence that connects him or some of his cronies to the scene."  
  
"But.." her mind raced for a possible explanation, running through all the scenarios her brain could come up with. One by one, all of them didn't seem possible. "I saw his grave in the Arlington Cemetery, next to his recovered sons. I mean, how does a dead man plant a bomb?"  
  
"I don't know, Kim." He yawned. "It's getting late and Mom's yelling at me to go to bed. But I'll keep you posted. Count on it."  
  
"Right." She nodded. "Good night, Wade."  
  
She thumbed the red button, and the boy's cubby mug disappeared behind a veil of static snow. The jelly-like plastic of the buttons scratched through the denim as she wrenched it back into her pocket. The crown of her head touched down gently upon her forearms just as her neck gave out. It had been a long day already, and she just wanted to get some sleep.  
  
--"Kimmie!" the voice of her mother rang out from the kitchen. "Dinner's ready!"  
  
"Ugh." she moaned, pushing herself back onto her feet. Her shoes took turns shuffling in front of each other, slowly guiding her towards the kitchen. "Okay. dinner first, then sleep!"  
  
***  
  
"Okay Tara," eased the accented voice of her instructor, Yune, "just give the accelerator a tad more pressure just after the gear begins to engage."  
  
"Right." She nodded gently, easing a little pressure onto the gas. The profile of the thin pedal pressed into her bare sole as the piece gave way to the flex. Yune was helping her refine her mastery of the standard in his sports car, a relatively new Mustang. So far, his tutelage was paying off. She could easily guide the stick without hearing that nerve- racking grinding.  
  
"See, you're doing good." He said genuinely.  
  
"Really?" she grinned.  
  
"Yeah, though you do have problems with speed negotiation." She saw the black capped head nod out of the corner of her eye. "Unless of course, you're trying to give me a heart attack."  
  
"A heart attack? For what?" she grinned playfully as she negotiated the gas to the firewall. An olive smear became what was the midday greenery outside the car. The almond eyes of the Korean widened as his head crashed back into the headrest. On the armrest on the middle of the console, the tan digits tightened around the cushy edge.  
  
She lifted her foot and angled it onto the brake, depressing it while her left worked the clutch down. The roar of the American engine quieted, gradually easing to the gentle thrum while the surrounding smear cleared in the glass.  
  
"For that?" she giggled.  
  
"Next time. we come out for practice," he breathed, "we're taking your pick-up."  
  
"I hate that rust bucket." She said. "I like to practice in a car that actually works and doesn't grind at me."  
  
"The beauty of synchronizers.." He nodded slowly, like he was still trying to get a grip on things. "But I'd like it if you didn't kill me in the learning process."  
  
"Then why'd you get a sports car then?" she asked honestly, eyes darting between the tachometer and the open road, fingers tense on the shifter. "If you don't like speed, then why get American muscle? Well-- weak muscle anyway."  
  
"It wasn't mine to begin with." He explained. "It's my Dad's car. Rather. it was my Dad's car."  
  
"What happened to him?" she glanced over briefly. The Asian had his arms crossed, and she could just barely see his t-shirt move back and forth, up and down at an angle.  
  
"He. died." He closed his eyes. "A few months ago due to cancer."  
  
"Oh.." She inadvertently groaned, shifting into the next gear. The car was nice and fast, but the clutch was stubborn. "So whom do you live with then?"  
  
"I live by myself, since I'm 18." He explained. "In a house as big as Kimberly's. Dad was pretty well off, since he was a general in the American military as well with the South Koreans."  
  
"Wait!" she blinked. "I thought he was North Korean."  
  
"There's no difference when it comes to the people of the countries." He explained. "Same people, same traditions. Just the peninsula was carved in two. Anyway, we defected to an American embassy in South Korea for some reason that I still don't understand. Given the potential intelligence the government could receive, the Marines accepted him into the ranks. Guess where we were posted right of the bat."  
  
".I don't know."  
  
"Back in South Korea." He continued. "Under Col. Drazen's command at the time. Let me tell you, the North Koreans were surprised when they found a former general south of the 38th."  
  
"Drazen.?" she thought aloud. "Wait a minute--you mean that geezer back on the Escutcheon?"  
  
"The very same." He nodded. "Dad and him were friends, and when he heard about Drazen's set-up, it only hardened his resolve about the west."  
  
"So you two joined up with that cutthroat?" she said.  
  
"Yeah," he said, "but cancer quickly overwhelmed my Dad and he sent me to take his place. But I wanted out as soon as I got in. And the Escutcheon was a perfect place to defect. And then I met you."  
  
She smiled warmly, feeling the warm blood rushing up her face.  
  
"Have you heard about what happened yesterday?" he asked, switching subjects. Just as well, she thought. Escutcheon, that was a time she'd like to forget.  
  
"Yeah." the corners of her mouth dropped into a line. "I think a friend of mine was supposed to be on that flight. I think she's alive; at least that's what Kim said. Do you think those cutthroats did it?"  
  
"I wouldn't know." He said. "I don't keep up with mercenaries anymore. The only thing I know is that geezer Drazen is dead. Oh--pull over really quick."  
  
".Okay." She worked the clutch and brake gently, easing the transmission into first at the tachometer's signal. Her hands worked the wheel, veering the car into the turn lane. Gravel crunched and shifted underneath the wheels as she turned off the road, the country flora ceasing its encroachment in the presence of a lone gas station. Momentum pushed them forward, but the restraints kept them still as the car crunched to a stop. "Pit stop?"  
  
"No." the seat belt whipped across his body, the door clunking open and he placed a foot outside the cabin. "Time to switch seats. You've had your fun."  
  
"Oh right." Just as his rump left the passenger seat, she inched herself over the center console like a spider. Gravity took over, her butt bouncing on the warm leather as she lifted her other leg over the console. The Korean shuffled into the driver's seat, working his lean torso underneath the steering column momentarily. He slid out, his back pressing into the seat with her sneakers in hand.  
  
"Do you have to take off your shoes every time?" he cocked an eyebrow as she relinquished the shoes from his grasp. "You'll catch a parasite if you keep that up."  
  
"I can't help it if the soles are too thick." She noted, easily sliding her feet inside since the backs had been flattened. "You don't want the engine to blow up, right?"  
  
"True." He shut the door, drawing the seat belt across his body. There was a hollow click as he slid that metal piece into the buckle. "But are you getting hungry?"  
  
"Yeah, I could go for some burgers or something." She pressed her palm to her midriff. Beneath the cool skin, she could feel the trembling of her innards. The acids and juices eagerly waiting do dissolve something- anything. "You're the driver now, you pick."  
  
"Ever had Korean?" her heart jumped when she caught sight of that warm gaze. "I haven't had it in a while."  
  
"I never had it before." She smiled. "But I'm willing to try."  
  
"Good." His legs moved predictably in the seat, and his hand worked the shifter with practiced ease. "I think you might like *pibimbap*, but I'm not sure you'll like *kimchi*."  
  
"Hmm." he hummed. She didn't know what the boy was talking about, but it definitely sounded delicious. "Sounds good."  
  
"Good." The car crunched its way back onto the paved road, rolling across the double yellow and into the southbound lane. "There's a nice little place I found in downtown Middleton."  
  
"Um. Yune?" she said quietly, yet loud enough over the thrum of the engine. Her blood quickened as the thought circulated in her mind, a thought she wanted to ask since the boy was released from the brig. "Yune?"  
  
"Yeah?" he said.  
  
"Um. I want to learn how to shoot." She said, blood rushing to her face again.  
  
"Why?" he asked honestly.  
  
"I don't know really." She dropped her gaze to the floor, looking absently at her makeshift clogs. "I just have this feeling. you know?"  
  
"A premonition?" he briefly looked over.  
  
"You could say that." She continued. "I really wanted to ask you this after you were released, but I never got around to it. But now. I just have this feeling that something really bad is about to happen. I don't want to be totally defenseless."  
  
"You know, you do have that little bit of Hapkido I taught you." He said.  
  
"True," she nodded, "but that's not going to do me any good with a bullet in my head. So could you teach me how to use a gun?"  
  
"." She felt a chill run down her spine as the droning hum hit her ears. Most likely he'll chuckle at it, despite the seriousness of her resolve.  
  
".. Okay." the boy nodded. "If that's the way you feel about it, then I'll be happy to teach you a few things. The only thing I ask is you don't shoot me by accident."  
  
"He--okay." She giggled. He might have been everything she could ask for in a guy, but he sure was paranoid.  
  
"Look inside the glove box." He said.  
  
"All right." She bent at the waist and her fingers curved underneath the angled handle. The little piece of plastic flexed with the guidance of her digits, and the box opened with a click. Within the dark, barren confine of the box was something that glinted with the dim light. "Yune," her fingers wrapped around the object, "why do keep that Daewoo in your glove box?"  
  
"It's kind of a lucky charm." He chuckled sheepishly. "Anyway, let's begin."  
  
***  
  
Kim gazed intently at the papers that littered her worktable, schematics and current, detailed intelligence of the island fortress the Senor Seniors called their island paradise. Scenarios ran threw her mind, effortlessly picking out the pros and the cons of each one and synthesizing them into her main course of action. Word from Wade suggested that the thugs responsible for the bombing were attending a meeting with the Billionaires over a transaction. or whatever people like that talked about.  
  
"Hmm." she thought aloud, "seems I can get in through the roof or the back door. Can't run-and-gun, or we'll be history for sure. Maybe I can disguise myself as a maid or something."  
  
"KP?" Ron's voice flowed into her ears, her train of thought screeching to an easy halt. Her arm moved behind the back of her chair, the palm pressing against the edge of it as she moved her torso around. The blond stood nonchalantly, his shoes hidden by the lattice of the top step.  
  
"Hey Ron." She smiled. "Care to take a seat?"  
  
"Sure." He took the last step, already walking for her bed just as his other foot cleared the step. Her smooth bedspread wrinkled when his back dove into the mattress. He folded his arms behind his head like a pillow. "What's up? Your Mom says you've been cooped up here all morning."  
  
"It's nothing really." Her glance moved to her table again. On the note pad nearby by, she scratched a final note before her fingers loosed the pen. "Just going over our infiltration of the Senor Senior fort."  
  
"Kim," he moaned, "why are we going to tweak the old rich guy? It's pointless to harass a person with so little time left."  
  
"Ron." she rolled her eyes. "That's where our suspects are going to be."  
  
"They're going to tweak the old rich guy?" from the angle, she could see his eyes blink. "Man, why can't they leave our elders in peace?"  
  
"Don't know." she threw it back. "But that's what we're going to find out. They have a meeting two days from now, and we're going to eavesdrop. Might provide answers to yesterday's attack."  
  
"'Might' is the key word in that sentence, Kim." He noted. "Maybe they just want a loan."  
  
"All signs point to: probably, Ron." She said. "But the question is why."  
  
"A house?" he tossed it out, playing it like word association.  
  
"Oh--yeah!" she replied sardonically. "Like you'd go to one of the world's richest villains and ask for a home loan."  
  
"I would."  
  
She let out a sigh, burring her face into her palms. Planning with Ron was like talking to a brick wall. Why she bothered, she'll never know.  
  
"We're leaving for Madrid tomorrow morning." She stated firmly. "Just be ready by then."  
  
"Oh--" he sat up quickly, his butt sinking deeper into her mattress, "Madrid! I love the Swedish."  
  
"Spanish, Ron." she corrected.  
  
"Oh." a blond eyebrow lifted. "But what are you going to do?"  
  
"I'm already packed." She said. "I suggest you do the same quickly. Our jet leaves at 9AM."  
  
"What do you mean 'jet'?" he asked. "All the planes at Middleton are grounded for a whole week."  
  
"I'll phone a friend." She explained, tucking a loose piece of hair behind an ear. "He'll clear it through the FAA and others."  
  
"How long are we staying for?" he said.  
  
"Long enough to prepare." She said, twisting to the boy at the waist. "You'd better be going Ron. I'm going to be up here all day."  
  
"You'd rather contract cabin fever than have the rest of the day at Bueno Nacho with me?" he angled his wrist, pressing his palm to his chest. "I'm hurt."  
  
"Get out, Nacho-head." She giggled. "Have a little fun for me. Just don't have an all-nighter."  
  
"Right." he hopped off the wrinkled bedspread. Thrusting his hands into his pockets he walked to the steps, disappearing inch-by-inch below the top step. Before his head vanished below the lattice, the blond mat turned around. "I'm going now. But should I bring Rufus for this reconnaissance?"  
  
"Why bother asking?" she said. "Of course."  
  
"Okay Kim." The blond mat dropped below the step. The soft plodding of his shoes was a diminuendo, gradually fading into the recesses of her house. From the steep flight of steps, she could hear the front door creak open and click shut a second latter.  
  
*Now that he's gone, I can finish up. *  
  
So far everything scribbled on the yellow notepad looked up to par, the specifics and whatnot. The plan was simple: infiltrate the fortress villa; enter the ventilation system and eavesdrop on the meeting; and escape. They didn't expect her, and if she kept everything clean and quiet they'll never know what hit them.  
  
"Planning's one thing," she told herself, "but execution is another ballgame."  
  
***  
  
Kim eyes darted frantically across the barren "courtyard" of the fortress villa. She and Ron has successfully climbed over the sea wall, keeping out of the sunshine beams of the shifting spotlights while carefully avoiding the patrolling sentries. The guards couldn't have been employed by the father-son duo. They were privacy freaks, divulging the existence of his uncharted island to the unseen privy.  
  
"Must be the suspects' entourage." She thought quietly aloud, kneeling behind small boulder.  
  
"Along with that fold-out, flying whirligig thing." Ron chimed in. The whirligig that sat in the middle of the courtyard was actually an Osprey, military issue, its blades and wings folded in to save space. Emblazoned in red were painted a few characters of some sort on the black hull, a language she didn't recognize.  
  
"Israelis?" the boy said.  
  
"He--yeah!" the little rat in his pocket squeaked out.  
  
"You sure?" She asked.  
  
"Believe me, Kim." he blinked. "No foreigner could write Hebrew that proficiently."  
  
"Forget about it." She said. "Just get to the servant quarters."  
  
The servant quarters were a few yards away, close but still so far away. It was a straight shot to the open window, but they had to cross through open space. A sentry stood attentively nearby and from the look of it, there was no sneaky way past him.  
  
"Ron." She whispered. "Distraction!"  
  
"Gotcha." He scooped up a rock in his hand, the gloved digits closing tightly around the rough surface. He shifted his body out quietly, carefully, keeping the grinding of pebbles underfoot in check. The arm swung out like a pitcher tossing a curve ball, and she could hear the rock sipping on the ground like it was water. A noisy clang rang out from where the Osprey sat.  
  
"What was that?" the nearby sentry said, voice thick with a familiar accent. Russian maybe? Gravel shifted as he strolled toward the craft, she could see the barrel of his bullpup rifle wobble away.  
  
"Ron, move!" she took off for the window, arms pumping for extra speed. The open portal grew with every hurried step, and she found herself flying through it like she was Superman. Her arms buckled, the heels of her hands met the floor and she rolled forward, back onto her feet. She turned her head over her shoulder, and the blond climbed through the window, almost stumbling through it.  
  
"Shut the blinds, hurry!" she said quietly, yet loudly that her voice went hoarse briefly.  
  
The roller whirred as the thick flap of cloth unrolled from above the window. The flap wobbled and bounced, dark waves flowing up the tarp as Ron tried to get it to catch.  
  
"Almost. there!" he quickly relinquished his fingers from the cloth, watching it wave gently by momentum. "That should do it."  
  
"Got the Chloroform?" she sneaked over to the door, taking a knee by the door hinges.  
  
"Yeah." The boy fished a hand into his cargo pants, the pocket with the noticeable bulge. A moment after the glove snaked its way inside, it came out with a tiny plastic bottle no bigger than an eyedropper in a pinch. "Straight from the taxidermist."  
  
"Give it here." She whispered. Her hand touched upon her utility belt, fingers curving underneath a flap and popping open a pocket. Her fingers dove in, pinching onto the soft piece of cloth she packed before they left. She thumbed the bottle open and she traced circles onto the cloth with the strong liquid, watching the capsized circles deepen in color as they soaked in.  
  
"Now what are you going to do with that?" he asked.  
  
--She jerked her head back up, her eyes wide as a soft, gentle plodding grew louder with every split-second. There was a soft click with every sound that seemed to cause the hard wood floor to creak.  
  
*Footsteps.*  
  
"Someone's coming!" she whispered. "Get in the closet, hurry!"  
  
The boy zoomed clumsily for the door, nearly tripping over his large sneakers as he tumbled through the open sliding door. Hard rattles came through the crevice, the many dark clothes swaying briefly, being slowed by the combined masses of textile. The door creaked open; stopping right in front of her as a pair of smooth, tan legs clicked into the room, stopping beside the bed.  
  
"Ugh." the woman groaned with some Mediterranean accent. She approached the bed tiredly. Her hands disappeared into the bed, the bedspread wrinkling as her feet tried to peel off her flats. "What a day. Glad my drudgery of a shift's over. I guess it's better than working the streets. Senor Senior is a pretty decent guy, but a little too kind to be a serious world power though. His womanizing son. gets on my nerves though."  
  
The tall woman shrank about a foot as she stood up slowly-yet- quickly, letting her knees lock when her legs straightened out. She let the pungent cloth drape over her right hand like the appendage was a towel rack. Her boots touched down quietly as they led her to the maid, starting at the heel, slowly letting the whole edge touch the floor with the instep following last--  
  
--And in that brief moment, time stood still as she went to work on the woman. Her hands did their own thing. The left circled around the woman, the crook of her arm pressing against the trachea while the right smashed the cloth to her face. The maid floundered like a piranha out of water, fighting violently against her grasp until the chemical took effect. Her body started to get heavier and heavier until the figure fell out of her hold, belly flopping onto the mattress.  
  
"Hi there!" she thumbed the cap back onto the bottle, jamming the cloth and anesthetic back into a nameless pocket on her utility belt. "I'm Kim, and I need to borrow this."  
  
From the closet, the blonde head poked out though the dresses, his face wearing a sniggered jubilance of some sort.  
  
"All right, KP." He grinned. "Been playing Hitman, have we?"  
  
"Ron, stay in the closet for a sec." She pointed. "I need to change. Now let's see." Cloth burned gently over her skin as she slid off both her gloves, stuffing them into a pocket in her cargos. Her palms touched upon the drugged maid's back, fingertips curling underneath the hem of her collar and twisting it back, the white tag flopping into view. "Size 6. Perfect."  
  
***  
  
Ron watched eagerly though the narrow slats of the closet doors, pushing all traces of guilt out of his thoughts. His tongue poked out of his lips, sliding across them and darting back in as the auburn flopped the downed brunette on her back, nonchalantly unbuttoning the navy blue blouse and sliding the clothing off her petite body. And then she went for the skirt.  
  
*Of all the days to forget my camera--*  
  
"Uh-uh-uh!" he felt his clothes tug down erratically, starting at the pants and working up his shirt. His pet mole rat trotted into view on his shoulder, standing on his hind legs and jumping hysterically. "No-no!"  
  
"Rufus!" he glared gently. "I don't spoil your fun, so don't spoil mine!"  
  
"Hmm.!" the little buddy growled, narrowing his little beady eyes.  
  
"All right, all right!" he rolled his eyes, his head following suit gently. "Don't get your peach-fuzz in a tangle."  
  
"Ron." The auburn whispered. "You can come out now."  
  
"Okay." He nodded, feeling the many textures whip across his skin on his way out of the cramped, crowded space. He felt his mouth go ajar as he laid eyes on the French maid that sat before him, her auburn locks pulled into a sloppy bun while her hands tried to jam her feet into the flats.  
  
"Ugh." the shoes clattered onto the floor, sliding into the closet with a sweep of her foot. "Of all the maids in this dump, I had to drug the one with feet smaller than Bonnie's!"  
  
The maid in question sat on the bed, half naked and hog tied like Kim did with the hairy kid on Escutcheon. Her wrists and ankles were bound together with a hair band, a really strong hair band.  
  
"Are you sure that'll hold, KP?" he asked. "It'd look really bad if the guards caught her running around like that."  
  
"Wade made it, Ron." She said reassuringly, bare feet slapping upon the hard wood floor as she walked to the closet. "Don't worry. It's made of the same stuff found in that elastic-constriction agent. If it can hold a Great White's jaws closed, it can hold a typical person."  
  
"Oh." he said. "But where are your clothes at?"  
  
"Under the bed." The rollers clicked and cracked on the rails as she slid the doors open, taking a knee by the shoe rack nearby. "Damn! Nothing but pumps and sneakers in here."  
  
"Can you walk in them okay?" he asked.  
  
"Yeah," she hooked her fingers into a pair of black pumps and pulled them off the wire, "but I wobble here and there occasionally. I just hope no one notices."  
  
"I think your feet are the last thing they'll be looking at." He said. "Just don't look at anyone in the eyes, and you should do fine."  
  
"True." She nodded, slipping her feet into the pair easily. "Ah-- perfect fit. Ron, I'm going to need Rufus for this."  
  
"Not to rain on your planned parade, Kim." His fingers wrapped around the piece of warm flesh on his shoulder carefully, almost caressing it as he brought it down lower. "But wont they notice the mole rat on your shoulder?"  
  
"Not when he's in the vent shaft, recording the conversation." She bent at the knees and her arm slid underneath the bed for a moment. The Kimmunicator came out in her hand when she withdrew the limb, standing up the second the arm was free of the bed frame. "I want you to stay here and watch the maid till I get back. If she wakes up, drug her again. Okay?"  
  
"Gotcha KP." He nodded, bouncing gently as his butt met the bed. His clothes ruffled and tugged crazily as the little guy scampered off of his shoulder. His blood quickened when the rat carefully scaled up the auburn's bare legs as she giggled, disappearing under the hem of the borrowed skirt. "Just watch out for Rufus, okay?"  
  
"As long as the runt doesn't get any bright ideas under here." She smirked devilishly as she stuffed the PDA in the blouse, turning for the door while a bulge wormed its way up to her chest. Her head dropped down. "Rufus, be careful around those! They're sensitive!"  
  
"He-huh. okay!" the little, nasal voice squeaked. 


	3. Chapter 3

3  
  
Kim heard music, just barely over the clacking of her pumps as she walked for the front door. It seemed to have been echoing from the living room, a lone string instrument playing a soft, melodious tune like a river flowing. She had heard it before, but she couldn't put her finger on it, and for some reason it didn't feel complete without a whole orchestra playing along.  
  
The steel door whooshed open quietly, and she clacked inside nonchalantly. The two guards on standby looked at her. She could see their heads follow her movements out of the corners of her eyes. One of them scratched their heads in bewilderment. But their footsteps didn't chase the clacking of her borrowed shoes as stepped in front of another door, sliding open smoothly as she felt the ground sink underfoot.  
  
And that melodious tune filled her ears the second the doors parted, loud and raw like hairs were rubbed together.  
  
The villa's living room was the same as it always been, catwalks crisscrossing above a sunken barren floor with a single Amazonian creek flowing though it. At the large table sat a group of gentleman, their identities growing clearer the closer she walked. The elderly man with salt-and-pepper hair had to be Senor Senior while the greasy muscle-bound hulk was his playboy son. The other two she didn't recognize.  
  
*Must be our bombers.*  
  
As she walked carefully down the gray steps, another maid trotted up the steps with a round tray of drinks in hand. The dark woman gently set them down upon an end table on the landing, watching intently as the purple liquid--wine sloshed around in the pink tinted glasses. The maid backed away a few steps before she walked briskly up the last flight.  
  
"When in Rome." she sighed, scooping up the tray professionally and walking down the bottom flight.  
  
She narrowed her glance at the olive-drabbed targets as she walked nonchalantly for the closest air duct. Curly brown hair capped the closest one, face twisted into a painful cringe as he imbibed a little of his beverage. Behind the wannabe Afro of the guy, a violin bobbed wildly, the ebony bow drawing across it madly only for both parts to cease into a gentle sway at times. She winced as the crisp rawness of the strings assaulted her ears, a very real reason she didn't like attending live concerts.  
  
She managed to get to the air chute undetected. Her back pressed against the steel, the cold sinking through the cloth as she slid down, squatting near the grate.  
  
"Okay Rufus." She whispered. "Get the Kimmunicator and take it up the air vent. I want you to eavesdrop on the conversation. Just push the button when you're in a good position."  
  
"He-huh. K!" the little runt squeaked, and she pressed her fingers to her mouth as the little guy crawled across her body, trailing between her breasts, curving around her sides, and she lost contact with the rat somewhere on her bottom. But she heard something tap quietly on the floor. She turned around. The rat gave her a big smile and a salute before it went to work on the grate.  
  
"Now where was I." she stood up and walked for the table.  
  
***  
  
"Gentleman, gentleman please." the old coot spoke. "I must say that was a very nice rendition of The Moldau. And it's clear that you people love your motherland just as well as Smetana loved his own, and will do anything to protect it. But alas, I am just a simple multibillionaire. What could an old timer like me do to further the cause?"  
  
"Mr. Senior," he said, letting his ebony instrument lay flat upon the table with the bow alongside, "you're more than just an old timer. Sure you may have little time left, but you wont let a little thing like age slow you down. You just don't have dreams; you live them out. You really have no choice but to live them nowadays, given your condition. But won't you help us live ours? You're the only one who has the resources we need."  
  
"As in money, correct?" the geezer frowned.  
  
"Sadly, yes." He said kindly. "It takes money to further a cause, especially with a cause as big as ours. It also takes money and resources to take over the world, Mr. Senior. And a little thing like Euros doesn't seem to stop you."  
  
"Because it's my money, son." There was a tap as he touched his cane to the floor. "This is not a bank. I am not a loan officer. You honestly cannot expect a simple old man like myself to heed your request."  
  
"Unless of course," he grinned, "there's a certain something or someone you'd like me to take care of."  
  
"Hmm." the coot put a wrinkled finger to his chin in thought. "Well. there is a certain someone I would have liked to ax--another multibillionaire like myself. His name was--"  
  
"Philippe Bullion?" he smirked.  
  
"Yes." The man said. "But. how do you know him?"  
  
"A loan request that went south." He explained. "And he insulted the homeland right when Shia and I took a seat. That, to me, is inexcusable."  
  
"How did he." the man's eyes looked away, wide while his all his teeth were bared.  
  
"I had a friend take care of him." He snickered. "Poor guy was enjoying his beluga caviar in the Jacuzzi when the Grim Reaper touched him. Plus he took a souvenir. I thought it would put us in your good graces."  
  
His fingers popped open his chest pocket and dipped inside. They pinched around the object, hooking into the loop just as he pulled it out. The ring rolled around on the table when he flicked it like a coin, clattering to a stop when it hit the coot's wine glass.  
  
The man took it into his gnarled hand. "This is his ring." A guilty smile played across his lips. "Philippe is dead."  
  
"Indeed." He nodded. "He made it look like a robbery gone bad. He can also sneak into a hospital and ax a VIP right under the guards' noses."  
  
"Hmm." the coot laced his fingers together. "Interested. I am curious to know this personal button man of yours."  
  
"Well you can talk to him right here!" he laughed as he cupped a hand onto Shia's shoulder. "Shia Bonnet, the VSA's personal silent assassin."  
  
"You?" the muscle-headed pretty boy spoke up. He had his chin resting on his palm, face dropped into an expression of boredom while the other fingers drummed on the tabletop. "You look like that goofy kid from that Even Stevens show I watch."  
  
"You may speak words, pretty boy." He looked to see the button man dive into his cargo pocket and come out with the bloodied handles of his personal garrote. "But my bloody piano wire speaks volumes!"  
  
The pretty boy's eyes widened, and the annoying drumming was silenced. ".This is a good point." He said.  
  
"Yeah, I know." The curly head nodded. "I'm so good!"  
  
"Well." the coot spoke up, placing his hands on the table and the chair screeched behind him as he stood up. "In light of this great news, I'm more than happy to pay you what you need. Keep in mind: 'need' is the key word in that sentence."  
  
"I know." He nodded, feeling that little bit of accomplishment swell in his chest. He reached into his chest pocket, and he grabbed the list the second the pads of his fingers touched paper. "I've made a list, and hopefully it shouldn't cause you to break your vault. According to our list: the weapons, vehicles, and the costs of constructing our headquarters should cost you just under 150 million in gold bullion. You can deposit in into a Swiss account, the numbers you will receive at a time of my choosing."  
  
The muscle head slammed the table fiercely, the thin glasses jumping briefly. "But if I'm going to be a teen pop star, I'm going to need a luxury estate!"  
  
"Junior," the man moaned, rolling his eyes, "this is not the time. It's mere change compared to your trust funds. But if I loan you the money, you must accept this one term. Sorry but it's non-negotiable."  
  
"Shoot."  
  
"You must take out this one person." He said. "The bane of the villainous underworld: Kimberly Anne Possible."  
  
"Oh don't worry!" he growled at the name of that treacherous wench. She was THE reason why he and his full brother had to spend the month in hiding while the US dismantled the rest of his father's legacy. Fortunately, Israel was kind enough to cut the rope just when its noose was about to tighten. "When we meet again, I'll have a special someone waiting for her!"  
  
"Wasn't she the one that gave you that Mercedes scar on your neck?" the curly hitman asked.  
  
"For the last time, Shia, yes!" he growled. "No matter what I do, I can't get that *shikse* out of my head. Ugh. I'm starting to see her everywhere!"  
  
The meathead's eyes narrowed. He could see the anger in the glare. "You'd better not hurt my blue fox!"  
  
"Junior!" the father yelled. "What did I tell you about dating an arch foe!"  
  
"Spitting upon villainy," his chin met the palms of his hands again, "I know. Blah, blah, blah."  
  
"Junior, go to your room." The father drew his hand down his face. "When you can think villainous thoughts like a proper villain, then you can join us as an adult!"  
  
"Ugh. whatever!" the chair squeaked loudly as the pretty boy pushed away from the table, standing up and hunching his way up the flight of stairs.  
  
"And a proper villain doesn't hunch!" the father yelled as the door whooshed closed. "Ugh. what am I going to do with him? I sent him to train with that Asian that hangs out with that Drakken fellow, but that didn't work at all."  
  
"Maybe you should leave him be." Shia yawned. "We are who we choose to be. If he wants to miss out on a life of fulfilling villainy, that's his decision."  
  
"Hmm." the man angled his head in thought. "That's a good idea. But what are we doing? We haven't toasted yet. Maid!"  
  
The man clapped his hands together. "Maid! We need three glasses of '61 Ballinger."  
  
"Yes sir." The maid with the tray of drinks called. He laid his eyes upon the woman as she clacked the drinks closer, and felt a vague surge of familiarity sweep through him. That auburn hair, the petite stature, and eyes. those deep, emerald eyes he couldn't get out of his mind.  
  
"Oh GOD!!" he buried his head into his hands. "Just leave me alone already!!"  
  
The maid set the tray down upon the tabletop, casually passing out the pink tinted glasses of bubbly. After the last glass had been given, she carefully picked up the tray and clacked away.  
  
"Hmm. that's odd." The geezer rubbed his chin.  
  
"What?" he straightened himself in the chair, and he let his palm rest on the grip of his new Uzi.  
  
"Maids don't wear heels." He said. "They're on their feet all day, and wearing shoes like that is impractical."  
  
"Hmm.." His fingers wrapped tightly around the heavy gun's grip.  
  
"It's probably nothing." He scooped up the glass and held it high above the center of the table. "I'd like to propose a toast: to the remembrance of departed Bullion and the start of a beautiful alliance."  
  
"Cheers!" both Shia and he stood up, letting the glasses ring like a bell when they touched together. And in the sport of things, they took a nice big sip of the bubbly, savoring it as it lost carbonation in their mouths.  
  
".Good year!" he perked his brow and took a glance at the glass.  
  
"Yes." The man nodded. "Some of the finest Ballinger I've ever tasted, so I stocked up on it when I scored my first billion. Oh--Maid!"  
  
"Yes Mr. Senior?" a thickly accented maid spoke up, who was standing near the creek. As the tanned blonde walked over with such a familiar swagger, another wave of repressed memory flooded him. He was certain he saw the woman before like the auburn, but he couldn't place where he had locked eyes with the woman. He stole a glance at the button man, who even cocked an eyebrow.  
  
"Could we get some tea cakes, if we may?"  
  
"Of course, Senor Senior." The familiar maid nodded. "I'll be right back."  
  
As the woman walked away, he leaned in close to the button man and inching his lips toward his ear.  
  
"Is it just me, or does that woman look familiar to you?" he asked.  
  
"You bet!" the curly boy whispered back. "Permission to investigate?"  
  
"Granted." He nodded. The boy stood up, angling a foot to her direction just as he latched his hand onto the cuff of his sleeve. "Just remember to keep it clean. We're visitors after all."  
  
"Right." The button man nodded.  
  
***  
  
Kim sneaked her hand across her brow, silently letting the deep breath she took out. Uzi--Uzi Drazen! How could that terrorist still be alive, especially after she plunged that grapple into his throat? No matter. She felt a deep pit form in her stomach, head swimming with emotion while her hands clenched into fists. Uzi was her bomber, no doubt about it.  
  
*If not, then he has to know whom. *  
  
The blonde maid walked past her briskly, over toward the long table that sat near the creek. The woman bent at the waist gently, taking into her hands a plate of pastry, sticky pastry that glinted in the florescent light. But as the maid turned carefully around, the scratchy clothes of the curly headed kid wisped against her skin as he marched emotionlessly past her. Her heart picked up a notch as she saw those bloodied handles in his grip.  
  
*Oh no.! *  
  
--And the curly kid was all over the maid. A long, arced glint caught her eyes, whipping up into a crazy angle and the woman toppled over backwards, nearly taking her assailant with her. She could see the woman's hands scrambling madly underneath the hem of her short skirt, coming out briefly with what looked like a small pistol before it skipped and clattered away with a small crescent kick to the wrist.  
  
The gun scraped against the cold floor towards her, stopping as it tapped against her shoe. She wasn't sure, but the black steel piece looked like that old Walther that James Bond used before that boring 18th flick.  
  
"Uzi!" the kid said as his struggled with the woman. "Guess who I found--"  
  
"What do you think you're doing!?" the elder man yelled. "She's just a maid!"  
  
"Wrong!" the kid breathed as the woman slowed her resist, weakly flailing her limbs as the kid relinquished his piano wire. His fingers wrapped under the collar of the blouse, and the hacking woman was flattened onto her back like a rag doll. "It seems you've been hosting a spy!"  
  
"What are talking about?" the man continued. "She's a maid. She just started a week ago!"  
  
"And she's been working for the Mossad for a lot longer!" Uzi took a knee by the downed woman. "Commander Ariel Hershel, it's been a long time!"  
  
Kim's eyes widened. *The Israeli government? Holy cow--! *  
  
"Not long--enough. Uzi!" the woman breathed.  
  
"So what's the deal?" the terrorist said mockingly, angling his head. "Did the loveable grumps at the Knesset find out I was going crazy already, sending you in to keep tabs on me, right? Damn, I wanted to surprise them too. It's a shame!"  
  
"No!" the woman coughed. "That Possible girl not feeding you to the dogs! *That's* the shame, you fucking heretic!"  
  
"Same old temperamental Hershel." he shook his head. "There's room in the homeland for only one race! Mr. Senior, have you fed the carp recently?"  
  
--Kim's mind went blank, her heart beating in her ears as she scooped up the pistol at her feet, thumbing off the safety and training it at Uzi's head.  
  
"FREEZE!" she yelled, putting a foot forward for support.  
  
Both boys looked over. The strangler merely cocked an eyebrow but she felt her heart was about to go into terminal arrest when she caught the furry in Uzi's eyes, his hand quivering on his Uzi, trembling with the sheer rage that seemed to burn its way throughout his whole body.  
  
"THE WENCH!!" he screamed, the saliva nearly foaming as it splattered from his mouth. It was almost as if he forgot that a gun was trained on him as he tore for his radio, screaming into the plastic box as he ripped it off his shoulder. "Storm the villa--NOW!!"  
  
Impulsively, her finger began to work the small trigger back at the sound of the whooshing door--  
  
--And in a single moment, the tables had turned on her. The control of the situation seemed to crumble as she felt herself falling down, forced down onto the floor and her hands seemingly working their way onto her back on their own. Something cold and hard pressed into the back of her head roughly.  
  
"Well, well, well." the terrorist said acidly. She could feel his hot breath brush against her hair. "Who do we have here? Well if it isn't Kimberly *Shikse* Possible, joining us for a little fun are we?"  
  
"Ugh." she groaned against her assailants. "Get off me!"  
  
"Um. no--I'm not going to do that!" He spat. "It is pathetic to see you Americans think you have the right to control the world as you see fit. Sadly, you and your treacherous government won't be alive to see all of-- what you call--Palestine returned to the Jew!"  
  
"Ugh." she groaned as she felt her face press against the floor. "And neither. will--you! You're time. will come--soon enough!"  
  
"Not as soon as yours, wench!" From the top of her sockets, she could see the stubbles that were his lips drop and his whole face twisted into a mask of unbridled fury. He stood up tall, shouting at the highest decibel his voice could muster.  
  
"WE'RE LEAVING!" he shouted. "KILL THE SPIES AND MOVE OUT!!"  
  
The pressure on her visage quickly resided as the goons above her lifted her by the wrists as another sized her by the ankles. The world around her bobbed up and down erratically as she was carried out of the fortress villa like a pig on a rotisserie stick.  
  
*The only thing that's missing is an apple in my mouth. * Her mind whispered bitterly.  
  
But as her body wobbled out of the whooshing door, she could see a little pink blob trot out of the air vent, her PDA tucked under its forelegs as it stood onto its hind legs. It let out a growl as it gradually trotted towards her just as the sliding door shut.  
  
*Rufus--Ron--get me out of here! *  
  
***  
  
Ron watched helplessly in the Osprey as his friend and another maid were dragged out of the villa by a group of thugs, nothing more than an olive smear in the circle window. He had sneaked into the craft at an opportune moment, thinking that the whirligig would make a nice escape from Senior's Fantasy Island. But escape didn't mean anything like it had used to when the auburn and the blonde were tossed onto the ground, mere yards away from a gang of sentries with arms staring coldly at them.  
  
A hairy kid walked out from among the mass of olive men, arms folded authoritatively behind his back. He could hear the gravel crunch gently as he walked close to the Osprey's spread wings, a little too close to the propellers.  
  
As he gazed at the profile of the kid, his jaw dropped as something just clicked in his busy mind.  
  
*The puffy hair, the grizzly face of stubble! *  
  
"Uzi!" bile crept up his throat as he growled, carefully placing his face against the cool pane of glass. Though it, he could hear the kid bark orders and there was a loud clack of metal resounding from the line of men. Kim stood fearless though he could see some movement in her neck while the other clamped her eyes down.  
  
"Get this rust bucket ready for take off!" the kid barked toward the cockpit, twirling his finger around like a helicopter rotor. The engines chugged and coughed, spitting out small plumes of smoke, dissolving in the tropical air before the strident ripping of the blades assaulted his ears.  
  
He took off for the cockpit, his fists balled as he ran for the door, dodging pieces of equipment that were scattered about in the hull. He wasn't positive if Kim was going to make it out alive, but he'd make sure that Uzi would catch that dirt nap he missed a month back.  
  
"Don't worry Kim!" he thought aloud. "I'm coming."  
  
With a swift kick to the door handle, the piece of plastic flung open and he hurled himself toward the pilot with an outstretched leg taking the lead.  
  
"Flying kick now!" he yelled, and he felt his sole connect with the man's cheek, as he was about to turn around--  
  
--And his whole body flopped onto the control panel, shifting to the right slightly before Ron touched down. The floor clanged as the man flopped out of the chair in a heap, jerking the control yoke with it. The whole craft curved to the right, and he nearly lost his balance in the move- -  
  
"AHH--!" someone screamed outside--and small sheets of red and whatnot splattered onto the windshield, oozing down the pane and pooling into a thin red line on the window frame, spotted with what looked like hair and bits of skin. Through the moving red, he could see the soldiers spun on their heels, some with their jaws dropped as they gazed toward the moving craft as Kim and the other woman hightailed it.  
  
"SHOOT THE DAMN THING!" the curly haired one of the bunch shouted in Hebrew. And the glass around him seemed to implode in on the craft; thousands of shiny pieces flying past his face as little sounds of tings and pangs flooded his ears, barely over the erratic staccato of short explosive bursts.  
  
He toppled onto the floor as he caught the sight of a copper shape barreling towards him, cylindrical and coned at the top. His eyes winced shut and his arms covered his head as he curled into a ball. But through the manic polyphony of his surroundings, a series of distinct clacks and clangs were seemed to emerge out of nowhere, seemingly from behind him and they grew louder till they slowed to a stop--  
  
--"Ron!" a familiar voice shouted above him. "Move!"--  
  
--And soon he felt himself being dragged on the floor, the bumpy texture of the cold floor sliding up his cheek hurriedly before everything stopped. His arms clanged as they fell onto the floor, and he lifted his head to see the Kim and the other woman in the cockpit--only to feel that his stomach grew a few pounds heavier.  
  
"Aw. man!" he groaned, pressing a glove to his belly. "Where am I?"  
  
From the cockpit, he could see the auburn hunch her back in the chair, breathing out slowly like she had just came out of a living Hell. The busted windshield no longer portrayed the barren prison that was the island villa, but rather a painting of warm and cool colors the flowed toward them with a bright circle sitting in the middle, colored in a burning red.  
  
"Whew." Kim drew the back of her hand across her crown, the other ripping that tiara thingy off her hair. It nearly hit him in the face as she whipped it behind her blindly. "Glad we're out of that!"  
  
"Indeed!" the blonde woman breathed, locks of her hair whipping wildly by the breeze through the holes that the bullets punched. "Ugh."  
  
"You okay, Ron?" Kim turned at the waist, perching her head on the shoulder of the seat.  
  
"Yeah.!" he took a knee, breathing in deeply and letting it out. "I was about to toss my cookies in a minute."  
  
"Don't worry." She smiled warmly. "We're out of the fortress villa."  
  
"Hmm." the blonde woman said, her voice thick with an accent he hadn't heard in over a decade. "Okay kids, it's answer time! Who are you guys and what were you doing there? You could have gotten killed!"  
  
"Nice to meet you too, Ms. Hershel!" Kim shot.  
  
"Don't give me that crap!" the woman growled. "I've spent nearly two months trying to get into the villa just for that meeting, and the next thing I know, you two show up and blow my cover!"  
  
"Gee--" Kim said sardonically. "Thanks Ms. Possible for saving my sorry hide!"  
  
"Possible?" the woman turned her head, blinking. "You're *the* Kim Possible of that Escutcheon incident a month back?"  
  
"The very same!" Kim folded her arms behind her head, letting her body slouch in the seat. "That gave Uzi that Mercedes scar on his neck, of course. Pf. thought he bought the farm too. Shows how much I was wrong, eh?"  
  
"Then who's the blond back there with the motion sickness?"  
  
"Ronald. R. Stoppable!" he groaned, nearly falling flat on his face as he tried to push himself up into kneeling. "The man who put old man Drazen out of commission."  
  
The woman stole a quick glance at him, moving her tan head hurriedly over her shoulder and back again. "Yep." The mat of long, blonde hair nodded. "Looks like picture on file."  
  
"All right then!" the auburn said. "Now who might you be, Ms. Hershel? .If that's your real name."  
  
"You're right," the blonde nodded, "it is Hershel. If you didn't hear back there, my first name is Ariel. I'm with the Mossad."  
  
"Uh. okay--let's pretend I don't know what that is." his fingers gripped the corner of a nearby crate and he hoisted himself onto his feet, wobbling gently to the slight rocking of the craft.  
  
"Israeli intelligence service, Ron." Kim interjected. "It's like their equivalent of our CIA or NSA--which ever carries out assassinations secretly."  
  
"We do whatever we have to do in order for the security of the country." The blonde said. "Speaking of which. what exactly were you two vigilantes doing at the Senor Senior villa--?"  
  
"What??" the auburn whipped her head around. "We're not vigilantes!"  
  
"If you're not sanctioned by your government," the woman noted, "you're nothing more than the target to me. At least--that's how I take it. Now answer my question."  
  
"Did you and your boys over in Israel hear about the bombing at an airport in Middleton?"  
  
"Um--yes: to a certain degree." the woman's head angled slightly, briefly before it leveled on her blue shoulders.  
  
"A friend of mine gave me a tip that the suspect could be attending a meeting with the Seniors. I wasn't sure why, until."  
  
The females exchanged information parsimoniously, but he lost interest as they blabbed on about things already in the past. What's done is done, and there was nothing they could do about it. That intelligence service might have been a little ticked, but a simple grin stretched across his lips.  
  
*As long as there are no more bombings, I think they can live-- *  
  
The cuff of the leg of his pants moved on his shin erratically, and his smile dropped to a wince as he felt something pinch its way up its leg. He felt a soft patch of warmth as it managed to work its way under the pants' waist, the warmth sliding and pinching up his chest until he saw a little blob of pink poke out the shirt collar.  
  
"Buddy!" he smiled warmly, and his fingers carefully wrestled the mole rat out of his shirt. "I was worried!"  
  
"He--huh!" the rat nodded his little head. "Me. too!"  
  
His chest swelled with joy as he soaked in the toothy smile of his friend--his family. As his lips spread, returning the gesture, his eyes couldn't help but lock onto a small patch of red, smeared onto the bottom of his buddy's buckteeth. It was almost as if he bit into something-- someone, just by the way the fresh red ran parallel to the grain of the enamel.  
  
"I during the meeting, I was recording the conversation on a small recorder." The woman continued, voice a little thick with apprehension. He lifted his head, and he saw one of the woman's hands snake its way into her blouse. Rough crumples echoed throughout the cabin, lifting the thin device out of her blouse and quite a few parts tapped onto the floor. A roll of tape unraveled towards him, leaving a thin line of mud brown behind wherever its spool went. It clattered to a stop next to the crate nearby. "Crap!!"  
  
"What the heck happened to it?" Kim said.  
  
"Damn!" the console cried out a split second later, just after he saw the blonde's clenched fist lift up and fall down. "My station chief is going to kill me!"  
  
"So not the drama, Ariel!" the auburn said confidently, and her hands began to run themselves over her body, patting in certain patches. "I just happened to record the meeting too. Now where's. oh no--Rufus!"  
  
"Don't worry, KP!" he called, carefully letting down his son onto the floor. "He's right here."  
  
"Oh--thank heavens!" he craned her head over the shoulder of the seat again, carefully curving around it just as her emerald eyes caught site of the buddy sitting nearby. "Do you have the Kimmunicator?"  
  
"Yep-yep-yep!" the pink boy nodded, pointing blindly behind him.  
  
Her pumps clanged on the metal floor as she walked towards him, and them behind him briefly. She walked past him, for the cockpit with her bulky, blue PDA in her slender grasp. Her rump met the cushion of the copilot seat with a squelch.  
  
"Whew." she sighed. "It's all here!"  
  
"Before or after his recital?" the blonde asked. "It's no good if you got nothing but his shoddy playing."  
  
"After." She nodded, and a little thin sheet of metal stuck out of the PDA like it had been ejected. She took it into her fingers, holding it between the index and middle like a cigarette, and she held it close to the woman's blonde hair. "It's on this memory card. You can have it, clean and clear."  
  
"BS!" the blonde looked over at her, eyes beaming sheer skepticism. "Nothing's free from you Americans! What's the catch?"  
  
"You bring us into your government's operation." She smirked.  
  
"Do I look like a recruiter to you?" the woman narrowed her gaze. "This is not Mission: Impossible, Possible! You can't expect me to pull strings just for you and Blondie back there!"  
  
"I'm not asking you to." She shook her head. "I'm telling you to."  
  
"What do you want then?"  
  
"We help you clandestinely." She grinned. "This VSA group knows about you and your other boys at the Mossad, right?"  
  
"And?"  
  
"But they don't know about us." She explained, and he cocked an eyebrow. What was his crush getting at? "We can be your Aces in the hole."  
  
"What the hell's in it for you guys?" the woman blinked.  
  
"Did you listen to why I was here?" she moaned. "My only lead was hacked to pieces by the dang propeller! This VSA is the closest thing we have in the bombing! If I can get close to a unit--cell--however they organize, I might get an even better lead."  
  
"Ugh!!" the woman briefly threw her hands up in the air before dropping to the yoke. "What good can you do if the whole damn world knows your face!?"  
  
"I think of something." She slouched in the seat. "Where's this station of yours?"  
  
"." The woman mumbled. ".Downtown Madrid."  
  
"Good." She breathed. "Take us there."  
  
"Right. My superiors need to debrief you anyway."  
  
"Um." he spoke up. "Am I the designated clueless on this flight?"  
  
"I'll try to clarify for you later, Ron." She said tiredly and shook her head. "Just try to think of what you want for dinner or something."  
  
"Humph.!" He frowned, feeling that little tingle of annoying anger eat away in chest. Even when he saved her life from impending death a month ago, she still didn't give him much respect. Amazing how he dealt with it, really. "Whatever you say, KP." 


	4. Chapter 4

4  
  
As his teeth sank into the last of his fourth take-out burrito, Ron mumbled incoherently at the utter simplicity of the "station". It wasn't all it was cracked up to be; it looked like nothing more than a simple apartment owned by a well off couple. Cultural items of whatnot bejeweled the cramped quarters, either sitting near or hanging on walls splashed with the warm, summer colors of the Mediterranean.  
  
That was all there was too it, nothing more. There were no secret rooms or slide out compartments; he pulled and tugged on every book with in his reach; and that fat, tanned cow of a station chief nearly bit his head off after the candelabra was ripped off the wall.  
  
"Gee Rufus," he mumbled through his stuffed lips, "this station isn't all that it's cracked up to be. I mean, where's all the guns, the gadgets-- you know, all that top secret spy junk?"  
  
"Hmm.!" his child twitched his whiskers in thought. The mole rat shook his head. ".Don't know!"  
  
"This sanctioned crap blows!" he swallowed, audibly blowing air through his puckered lips. "Really blows."  
  
"He-huh-ha-ha!" his son chuckled. "Yeah!"  
  
"I thought real espionage would be fun." He said flatly. "It just turns out to be another nine-to-five job. except you--go places and stuff."  
  
"Hmm--yep!"  
  
"But what the heck does Kim really want out of this, Rufus?" he pondered aloud. "Is there really anything that this outfit can do that she can't by herself? I mean--she's *the* Lara Croft for Pete's sake!"  
  
"Uh-uh!" the rat squeaked. "No guns!"  
  
"Yeah--that's true." He nodded. "But it's not like she needs them anyway. If she wants this VSA group so badly, she can do it herself."  
  
"Yep!"  
  
"No I can't, Ron." Said that cool voice of his friend. He turned around, pushing his elbow behind him and letting it bend behind the back of the couch. A baggy shirt draped over Kim's shapely body as she stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame as if she was loitering. "But thanks for the ego boost."  
  
"What do you mean you can't find these guys?" he blinked. "Did you forget your motto already?"  
  
"Nope," she shook her head gently, "but after Escutcheon, our government has been sticking their noses into our business. Understandable, since they don't want an international incident on their hands, and we have to clear our operations through the State Department before we can proceed anymore."  
  
"They never supported our actions before," he said, "why start now?"  
  
"Seems it finally hit them that world peace can't be left to their own discretion." She said. "It's up to each and every one of us to make our world a better place. .And the government wasn't too happy with us after the UN condemnation over violating the Outer Space Treaty. Bad press, and all."  
  
"To a degree, Kim." He said flatly. "Just don't say that peace stuff around my synagogue, or you'll end up in an argument with Rabbi Katz."  
  
"Agreed." She yawned.  
  
"So what were you and the Hershel lady talking about?"  
  
"I'm trying to get us clearance through the Israeli government for our operations." She said. "It seems this VSA group has gotten lost within the civilian population. And since we don't want turf war on our hands, we might as well work through the Mossad."  
  
"Okay, fine with us." He nodded. "As long as we get some new toys to play with. Right Rufus?"  
  
"Yeah!" he squeaked.  
  
"Highly unlikely we'll get any." She said. "But it's not a bad thing to hope for, isn't it?"  
  
"Better than going out naked against an army, KP." He said.  
  
"True." She noted. "But we manage without any fancy stuff."  
  
"Sure Ms. Kimmunicator." He chuckled. "Whatever you say."  
  
Her smooth, bare legs carried her over to the black duffel bag that sat on an elegantly crafted chair. Fortunately, Hershel was "kind" enough to let them retrieve their bags from their own hotel during the drive over. The cloth rippled and crinkled as her hands dug into the caving sack, and they came out with the bulky PDA in hand.  
  
"Wade." She spoke as her finger touched a button. "Can you read me?"  
  
"Loud and clear." The device seemingly crackled out. "Do you know what time it is here?"  
  
"Do I look like a timekeeper to you?" she smirked. "Now let's keep focused here."  
  
"Aw." the voice yawned. "How's that debriefing thing going for you? Was it painful?"  
  
"Not at all." She said. "In fact, the station chief's on the phone with Tel Aviv right now. Looks like we'll be commissioned by the Mossad if all goes well."  
  
"What pray-tell for?"  
  
"If I work through these guys," she explained, "they might help me track down this new lead. I'd like you to run a continuous inquiry for me, over the course of this op."  
  
"Ugh." the voice moaned, and the tiny speakers crackled. or tapped out in an irregular pattern. "What is it?"  
  
"Run a bullion search for 'VSA'." She said. "And pay close attention for any articles written from the Middle East."  
  
"Right." the PDA moaned. "Can I go to sleep now?"  
  
"You may, Wade." She smiled. "Just get to it when your body's willing."  
  
There was final cackle of static and a click, and her hand pushed the bulky device back into the depths of the bag. Kim was up to something else than tracking down leads; he could see it in that busy glance of hers.  
  
"What was that about?" he inquired.  
  
"You should know by now, Ron." She grinned, and he bounced gently on the fluffy cushion when she took a seat nearby. "I like to exhaust my resources when it comes to missions."  
  
"Don't like playing a good soldier, do you?" he inquired astutely.  
  
"There's not a whole lot of difference between soldiers and pawns in this day and age." She said. "War is nothing more than a game of chess to a government."  
  
"Don't confuse Israel with the other uniformed countries." He said frankly. "They don't play games here, Kim. If you play them, you're worm food! This agency will make sure of it."  
  
"And how do you know so much about what they'll do, Ron?" she crossed her legs indifferently, as if he was blowing nothing more than smoke. Her fingers laced together, pulling gently against her crossed kneecap. "It's not like they're at war or anything."  
  
"Didn't I tell you?" he moaned at her apathy. "I used to live in Jerusalem before I moved to Middleton, just before the last uprising ceased."  
  
"Really?" Her eyes lightened up. "No. you didn't tell me."  
  
"Yeah--well, I did." He continued. "I don't remember much, other than what my Mom and Dad told me. But there was this one incident that I just couldn't get out of my mind."  
  
"Well, what is it?" she asked.  
  
"I can't remember it well." He said. "But I distinctly remember walking down this narrow, winding path. For some reason, which I can't remember, I look up and--"  
  
He closed his eyes, pressing his lips together. He remembered perfectly what he saw long ago in the West Bank, as a child looking up at the strange objects that dangled from a lamppost like it was a mobile. Never had he saw such epitomic cruelty sway in the breeze like a mere leaf.  
  
"What did you--?"  
  
"Bodies." He said quietly.  
  
"Bodies?" she blinked. "What--like a cat's?"  
  
"People--Kim--people!" he felt something roll down his cheek. "Hanging from. --freaking lampposts! Men, women, children--all of them!"  
  
"Whoa!" the girl said. "Where was this?"  
  
"Haven't you been listening!?" he yelled. "ISRAEL!!"  
  
"Oh my God--!"  
  
"Don't start with me, Kim!" He growled. "Yes, those--those *monsters* on the other side of the fence did this to their own people! These are the same monsters my people live with everyday, Kim!"  
  
"God.!" she pressed a palm to her mouth, and then her eyes closed and her locks of auburn hair shook furiously. "No. --no! That can't be right!"  
  
"It is, Ms. Possible." Replied the accented voice of Hershel. He turned his gaze at the doorframe again along with Kim. Hershel's tanned arms crossed her simple T-shirt, and her face played a plain expression. "Along with tribal clashes and suicide bombings that rock the region almost every other day. I can tell you, the world will be glad when this violence finally ends."  
  
"This stuff goes on all the time?" the girl's emerald eyes blinked. "Then why hasn't anyone else--?"  
  
"Heard, you ask?" the woman cut her off. "Because the media has a habit of covering up the truth of what really happens. Sure, networks like the BBC and the CNN put on a pretty face for the audience, but atrocities like that are the grim reality of it."  
  
"Wait--!" she said. "How do I know this isn't some Israeli propaganda?"  
  
"Note to self:" the woman shook her head slowly. "Give Ms. Possible a grand tour of Ramallah. If you don't want to believe the truth, Ms. Possible, the truth doesn't really care. Truth doesn't lie."  
  
"Never mind--forget it then!" she rolled her eyes. She'd believe it when she sees it, so it seemed. "Any other nuggets of wisdom you'd care to share?"  
  
"Just one." The tanned woman strolled over coolly to the high-backed chair across from them. She reached for the table, the tops of her fingers disappearing under the edge of the tabletop. Wood scraped together, and he could see a drawer pull out--all the way out, rollers and all. She upturned the drawer, and his eyes caught a lengthy, paper sheet taped onto the bottom. He could hear the scotch peel away as she gently pulled upon the paper. "If I can just. ah--there!"  
  
"What's that?" he asked as she turned it onto its top. Her fingertips pulled a triangular flap open, and typed paper peeked out at him from inside. She pinched the paper inside and it slid smoothly out. They smacked onto the tabletop as she tossed the paper their way.  
  
"Czech Republic?" A reddish eyebrow kinked on Kim's face.  
  
"Indeed." Ariel nodded. "Recent intelligence down in Israel suggests that Mr. Bonnet has lost himself in Prague, Mr. Drazen's hometown I believe."  
  
"What's he doing out there?" he couldn't help but let an eyebrow cock as his fingers ran over the smooth surface of the ticket, eyes a little boggled at the Spanish typed onto it.  
  
"We have no idea," the woman said, "but we are not letting this opportunity pass us by. We'll take you to the airport and guide you to the right gate, since I heard your Spanish is sorely lacking."  
  
"Yeah," he smiled weakly, "but I know food in every language!"  
  
Hershel rolled her eyes. "Amusing."  
  
"What the heck are we going to do in Prague?" Kim asked. "Unless someone speaks French or English, we're practically lost already!"  
  
"We have a package waiting for you at the airport." The woman explained as her fingers dipped into the envelope again. Out with her digits came a small sheet of paper, no bigger than one in a fortune cookie. "This slip of paper has its location on it. You'll get it as soon as you board the plane."  
  
"May I ask a simple request?" she asked.  
  
"What is it?" the woman moaned.  
  
"I'd like to bring someone else in on this operation--"  
  
"For the love of God, Possible!" Ariel's palm drew down across her face. "You cannot expect me to fetch undisclosed people like they're sticks!"  
  
"This is the last one, I promise." She said reassuringly.  
  
"Ugh. who is it?"  
  
"Yune Bin-Mok."  
  
"Bin-Mok?" the woman gazed at Kim with a kink in her brow. "As in General Tseng Bin-Mok's only son?"  
  
"I don't know about this Tseng person," she said, "but Yune was in league with Colonel Drazen's private army for sometime before his defection. And he knew Uzi from his days there."  
  
"Hmm." the woman put one of her blue polished fingers to her chin in thought. "This could be--interesting at least. I'll go talk to the station chief again regarding."  
  
"When does our flight leave?" he asked.  
  
"Tomorrow afternoon." Hershel said. "Intelligence says that Shia has arrived in Prague about two hours ago and he's planning to stay over a week. It gives us a pretty big window to work with, and if the Mossad agrees to it, then you can expect Yune to arrive the next day."  
  
"Cool!" he nodded.  
  
"Indeed." The woman yawned. "Now get some sleep. You guys have a big day tomorrow."  
  
***  
  
Tara pressed her palms into her face again for the forth time, her nose taking in deep whiffs of the scent of her hands. Yune and she spent a little time at the local target range, a few miles away from the outskirts of Middleton. It was the first time she willingly used a gun, and no matter how hard her fingers worked in the hand soap, that stinky sulfur- like smell just wouldn't wash away.  
  
"How many times are you going to smell your fingers?" The Asian chuckled as he shifted. They had just left the range and they were on the way to back into town. It was a good thing, considering how that trigger- happy yokel emptied his magazines in no time at all. "There won't be anything left if you keep rubbing that gunk on."  
  
"It's anti-bacterial hand cream, thank you very much!" she said as she dropped the tube back into her handbag. "I can't help it if gunpowder left a bad smell on my clothes."  
  
"I told you to wear something you didn't care about." He shrugged. "But does anyone listen to me? No sir!"  
  
"But I like my halter top!" she touched her chin to the top of her chest, eyes weakly gazing at the baby blue cloth that wrapped around her torso. "I bought it for summer days, and today was no exception."  
  
"Out of all the gals at the range," he argued weakly, "you were the only one who should have been fashionably late. Did you see any of them flash Club Banana merchandise? I think not."  
  
"Ugh." her eyes rolled as she sighed. "At least it's better than those rags you're wearing."  
  
"What?" the Asian looked over quizzically. "I like this shirt!"  
  
"Please!" she held up her hand. "It's nothing more than a coupon purchase at Smarty Mart, if you ask me."  
  
"Funny," he argued playfully as he worked the stick all the way back, "I don't recall asking you either."  
  
He chuckled as her weak fist met the bicep of his closest arm. "I'm a girl!" she said. "I can do that. It's my job, you know."  
  
"No, it's not!"  
  
"Is too!"  
  
"Not!"  
  
"Too!"  
  
"Whatever, honey!" he sighed. "What would do you want for lunch?"  
  
"Whatever it is," she frowned, recalling her trip to the Korean restaurant and the spice-induced illness of that dish he just had to recommend, "it'd better not be Korean. My gut can't stand those spices!"  
  
"The German princess can't stand a little heat in her belly?" he blinked. "No.!"  
  
"For the last time, Yune!" her lips pulled into a sneer. "I'm Austrian--not German!"  
  
"There's not a whole lot of difference, from what I've read." He noted.  
  
"Oh--don't tell my grandfather that." She waved a finger. "'Don't confuse your heritage with those Nazis, little lady!' At least, that's what he always says."  
  
"Is that why every time I visit your home, it's virtually spotless?" he asked.  
  
"Is what why?" she threw it back.  
  
"Because I heard that your people hate a mess!" he laughed, to which her fist met his bicep again--a harder then what she had wanted. "OW! What was that for?"  
  
"You don't see me making fun of your people," she narrowed her gaze at him, "so don't make fun of mine. My parents like you, Yune. Let's keep it that way, shall we?"  
  
"Really?" he said. "Is that the truth?"  
  
"Yeah." She nodded. "They wouldn't let us spend all this time together if they didn't."  
  
"Strange," his thin lips pressed together, "'cause every time I see your dad, he always looks angry or preoccupied with something."  
  
"He's just worried about work, don't sweat over it." She giggled. "He even thinks we make a good couple!"  
  
"You didn't tell him about my. last line of work?" a thin black line kinked on his brow.  
  
"What's done is done, Yune." She moved her hand over toward the stick, and she gently laid her palm down upon the back of his hand. "You can't change it. In fact, my grandpa has a saying, which he brought back from a trip in Sicily: 'I didn't see anything, I didn't hear anything, I wasn't there--and if I was there, I was asleep.'"  
  
"Hmm." he nodded, and her hand seemingly caressed the crinkled leather as he moved the stick violently. "I think your phrasing is a little off, but I like it nonetheless. A lot better than what my grandfather used to say."  
  
"Well." she pursed her lips gently, "care to tell me?"  
  
"He used to blab on about Confucius teaching--or as I like to call him, 'Confuse Us.'" he said. "It's still common place in Korea, though you wouldn't know it if you walked down a street. And my father usually lectured me on Sun Tsu's classic work."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"Art of War."  
  
"Oh--barf!" she stuck out her tongue in disgust. "No wonder you wanted to get out of that military stuff!"  
  
"Exactly." He nodded. "Though there are a few things I missed."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"I happen to be a small weapon fiend of sorts, and so was my father." He explained. "We have a decent sized collection of blades and guns back at the house, but we never use them--just display them."  
  
"Speaking of which," she grinned, and the leather let out a muffled squelch as she moved her back to the corner of the seat, "how'd you think I did on the range?"  
  
"For a novice," he nodded, "I thought you did very well. Except you seem a little afraid of what your doing."  
  
"What?" she blinked. "I'm not afraid."  
  
"I'm not saying you are, but you do have a tendency to jerk the muzzle down and you jerk the trigger. If you were to practice more, the recoil wouldn't faze you."  
  
Ah recoil: the blessed, split-second aftermath after a bullet has been shot--when the gun seemingly wanted to kick out of her grip every time she jerked the stubborn trigger back. It wasn't that bad after she emptied a full magazine for the first time. The pistol merely jerked her wrist back, and it wasn't that Daewoo that he carried around but rather a rented .22.  
  
"But. it wasn't the case a month ago." She said. "I wasn't afraid of it back then, so what the heck changed?"  
  
"You were simply lost in the chaos, Tara." He explained. "Or as the military calls it: 'combat high'. You didn't care what the weapon--what *you*--did, just as long as you got out safely. It happens a lot, and it wears off as the adrenaline begins to thin out of your blood."  
  
"Hmm." she cocked her head back, the scalp scraping against the warm leather. "Anything I can do to rectify it?"  
  
"Do what I do," he said, "don't think--just shoot."  
  
"Pf." she snickered, "easy for you to say."  
  
"It just takes practice." She felt the warm palm of his hand touch onto her shoulder, fingers shifting on it. Calm seemed to tingle throughout her body at his touch, almost burning in her chest and inching its way through. She didn't know why it did, and she wanted more of it like a child with candy.  
  
"Except it's healthier," she thought aloud.  
  
"What's healthier?" he asked.  
  
Her eyes broadened, and she felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. "Oh--nothing." she smiled awkwardly, "just thinking aloud. That's all."  
  
"That's okay." He nodded, and she could see his tan ears twitch at a digital tune, almost a computerized whine for a minute before it dropped into an actual melody. It had seemingly whispered into her ears before, preformed beautifully on a classical CD when her dad didn't utilize it for a coaster.  
  
"Fur Elise." she smiled warmly. "My favorite."  
  
"Mine too." He shifted unpredictably in the seat, moving back and forth erratically--briefly before he managed to work the cell phone out from his pocket. The phone had ceased it's digitized bleats as he thumbed a button, the device letting out a muffled *click*.  
  
"Hello?" half his face disappeared behind the piece of plastic. "Oh-- hey Ms. Possible, what's the sitch? He-he-ha-ha! I've always wanted to say that! So what's going on in Spain? .Really? What the heck do they want you for? What--hold on a sec!"  
  
His fingers released the device, and it slapped onto his leg as it slid down his thigh, leaning against his groin. His legs moved quickly while his hand worked the shifter down literally a notch, and the other hand veered the Mustang onto the curb. She felt the very road beneath her seemingly disintegrate into gravel, all the little bumps blending together as the car crunched to a stop.  
  
He grabbed the phone, the receiver pressing against his ear again. "Okay--I'm back." He said over the grinding sound of the parking brake lever. "What's that.? Well what do you want me for? You got Ron, don't you? What--!" His almond eyes grew as big as saucers. "He survived?? .Huh--? Shia Bonnet--what the heck's that Frenchman doing? .Yeah, I heard of him. I met him once back in France, though I didn't know it was him at the time. But he changes everything. Don't worry. I'll get packing as soon as I drop Tara off. Just stay out of Shia's way. He's as ruthless as Uzi was, and twice as. emotional. Take care."  
  
The phone let out a lengthy beep, and the device clattered on its descent into the cup holder. The parking brake made a little click, and his thumb punched in the button while he guided the lever back down. His legs worked true to form as wrenched the stick into first, and her temple met the side of the cabin as Yune worked--no--*forced* the car back onto the road. Something about that conversation unnerved him; she could see it in how quickly he worked through the gears. Her eyes darted over to the speedometer, glued to the red needle and how it gracefully arced past 60 in no time at all.  
  
"Yune, what's going on?" she asked, nervously wiggling her hand up to the handle overhead while her feet pressed flat against the firewall. Thank God she had her seat belt on.  
  
"Sorry Tara." He literally slapped the stick up from fourth gear to fifth, the engine seemingly pausing its roar momentarily for the car's stubborn clutch. "Change of plans."  
  
"No lunch, I assume?" she felt her heart pick up the pace by a few beats, catching sight of the multicolor smear that was the outskirts of Middleton as it whipped by.  
  
"Correct." He nodded. "Kim wants my help for a mission of hers, involving some really dangerous men. Sorry, but I got to leave tomorrow morning. And judging by the look of things over there, I'll probably be gone for a week."  
  
"Oh. okay." She nodded quickly. "But do you mind slowing down? I thought you hate speed!"  
  
"Only when there's a novice in this seat." He smirked, passing an oncoming semi with bravado. The car shifted back into the lane, the tail possibly inching away from the truck's flat grill while she saw the Asian's leg sink deeper into the seat.  
  
"Close.!" she gulped, and then seemingly out of the blue another tail end of a semi came upon them. Yune veered the car past the double yellow, into the opposite lane for another pass. His leg sank a little deeper in the leather seat, and the length of the semi shrank incredibly outside the windshield. Tan fingers strangled the steering wheel, shifting his gaze to the right and carefully guiding the Mustang back into the appropriate lane just as--  
  
--She saw another semi barrel right for them!  
  
"YUNE--" she screamed, "WATCH OUT!!"  
  
He whipped his head back, and she could see both his legs snap and squeeze together--but the whole world upturned on a dime at the explosion of twisting, buckling metal. Through the cracked windshield and past the warped hood, she looked up and magically found the ground above her. It twisted quickly on a broken axis, and soon the ground was to the side of her, the left side, thousands of sparks flying past her like a million fireflies. The driver beside let out a loud cry of pain--real pain--before everything seemed to tumble around--  
  
--And everything stopped, as quickly as it came like a sandstorm. Thick strands of her hair draped sideways on her face, and for some inexplicable reason her whole body just wanted to lean severely to the left like her hair.  
  
"Ugh." she batted her eyes. "What happened?"  
  
She got an answer, but not one she wanted period. Yune let out a groan, a loud and painful groan that shook her to the bone. The sheer sound sent shivers racing up and down her spine, her palms cold and clammy. Carefully she whipped the stray locks behind her crown, and her eyes slowly traversed down the crinkled, gnarled mess that was once a car cabin.  
  
"Yune--!" she gasped when her eyes locked onto that heap of a body, curled into a fetal position. His features were twisted into a mask of pain--a shifting mask whose lips and eyes twitched wildly. "Oh my God-- Yune!?"  
  
***  
  
"Dude!" Shia exclaimed contentedly through the phone. "What's going on back in Israel?"  
  
"Dude!" the lead guitarist--*err*--sitar player equally exclaimed in his ear. Good old Mark! The kid never failed to brighten his day when it seemed its darkest. Yet he couldn't give him that high five he so richly deserved now. The klezmer member was half a world away while he was stuck in Prague, on constant guard duty that a mere private should partake. "The klezmer's falling apart over here without you! We can't even get a simple gig at a nightclub when the dang bombers aren't tearing Tel Aviv a new one!"  
  
"Ugh.!" his hair shifted as he shook his head. "Same damn story all over again! Where's Josh at?"  
  
Ah Josh: the simple-minded filler for the tuba while he was away. Though he never really liked that kid, he did often wonder how the band-- his band held up with that blundering colossus.  
  
"Pf--don't make me laugh!" the kid's chuckle was lost in the airspace. "He's nowhere to be found--as usual!"  
  
"Stuffing his face at the McDonalds, I assume?" he rolled his eyes.  
  
"When he's not working it off at the gym!" the kid continued. "The rest of the guys--myself included--were thinking about casting that tub of lard back into the Dead Sea. We can't take it anymore! No one could play a tuba like you, Shia!"  
  
"I know." He smiled as his fingernails met his lips, the air from his mouth caressing them before they rubbed vigorously against his shirt. "I am the best!"  
  
"Speaking of which, we also think the band needs a violinist!" the corners of his mouth dropped when the words clicked in his head. "Shia. um- -do you think that leader of yours is interested in our group?"  
  
"Who--" he asked, "Uzi?"  
  
"Yeah!" Mark said. "Mr. SMG himself!"  
  
"I don't think he is, to tell the truth." He said coolly. "He's more of that artsy, symphonic. player type. He never really was a fan of that Brave Old World group."  
  
"What??" the kid said. "What do you mean he never was into that group? It's Jewish for Pete's sake! It's the dang group that inspired us, remember?"  
  
"Seriously!" he held up a hand. "He doesn't like klezmer music. Unless he finally gets that conductor's baton removed from his ass, I don't think he's interested."  
  
"Put him on the phone!"  
  
He blinked. "W--what?"  
  
"You heard me!" Mark said sternly, like he actually discovered his balls for the first time. This was a first, given how much of the group was living in mortal fear of their powerless superior. "Put him on! No one insults the klezmer of Shmuck Avenue without an earful!"  
  
"Are you VSA, Mark?" he said.  
  
"What kind of stupid--"  
  
"Are you?" he pressed.  
  
"Of course not!" something slammed on the other end, like a pound and a quick clatter of metal a split-second after. "None of us are, except for you."  
  
"You know his protocol." He said. "No civilian speaks with the Major, unless cleared through the normal channels."  
  
"What channels?" he sighed as the kid threw it back. "You VSA aren't even recognized!"  
  
"Recognized and disavowed don't have interchangeable meanings." He argued gently.  
  
"T--whatever!" the kid yelled. "Do I sound like I give a damn? Are you going to put him on or not?"  
  
"I couldn't even if I would." The plush carpet seemed to shift underfoot as he strolled toward the nearby window nonchalantly. His eyes wondered toward the far right of the pane, sailing over the darkening sea of ye-old architecture and landing ashore on the small, chocolate-colored box in the distance. It was almost hidden from him, the boxy building veiled by the thickening twilight. "He's. getting some replacement parts as we speak. A whole *mess* of them."  
  
"Ugh.!" the kid sighed. "Has your precious general--"  
  
"Major."  
  
"Yeah--*major* pain gone AWOL or something?" Mark asked. "He's been gone for. about two days, right? How long does it take to get a replacement part around Prague?"  
  
"I wouldn't know." The window met his back, pressing into it like it was one of the cream colored walls of the room. "I was lived in Paris until a month ago. Uzi's lived in this olden city for most of his life."  
  
"You're French?" the kid asked. "You sound pretty American to me, my friend."  
  
"Maybe because my parents are American, dumb ass!" his lips twisted into a sneer. "We maybe Jewish like you but we're American nonetheless!"  
  
"Pf. whatever." Mark dismissed. "If your Uzi isn't there, fine with me. I got another violinist waiting in the wings. And I think you know her, if I'm not mistaken."  
  
He blinked. "Wait a minute! You don't mean--!"  
  
"Robin, I think it is?" the kid said with playful glee. "The black Jewess from Ethiopia, right? Oh--I think she'll make a fine addition, don't you agree?"  
  
"Listen butt-munch!" he growled. "You'd better not touch her or--!"  
  
"You'll what, Shia?" Mark said mockingly; almost as if he had slapped him in the face in person, glove fresh in hand. "Strangle me Boston style? Need I remind you that you're half a world away while your sweetie-puss and I are here on Shmuck Avenue? Tell you what, dude. We're going to see whom she chooses!"  
  
"Oh!" his glare wondered aimlessly through the room, searching for something that his piano wire could take a nice, clean chunk out of. Mark had better spend some good, quality prayer time at the Wailing Wall, 'cause he's going to need a miracle. "You're on sucker!"  
  
"A deal then!" the junior said. "We'll just see who gets the girl this time around."  
  
"Uh-huh!" he clenched his fist so tightly that he could barely feel something trickle from his palm. "We'll see ass-wipe!"  
  
"Glad you agree." Mark cooed. "Oh--and Shia?"  
  
".What?"  
  
"She's not that great. if you know what I mean--"  
  
He didn't care what the junior meant as the phone just seemed to. fly out through the glass itself, and he could just see the yellow appliance explode into chunks on the cobblestone road. The wind assaulted his face, blowing into his batting eyes as it died down a moment after. The ancient cityscape seemed crooked somehow through the pane of broken glass, how the dim light seemed to zigzag through the twisted shards.  
  
"Great!" he moaned. "Isn't this magical! Ugh--Where's the damn bar at?" 


	5. Chapter 5

5  
  
The flight from Madrid wasn't too bad to say the least, even though they were stuck in coach between two smelly, fat people who haven't heard of deodorant. The grouch of a station chief was kind enough to pay for their meals, if he and the airline called that slab of hardtack a broiled chicken breast. But at least they made it to Prague--rather the Ruzyne International Airport, a rather simple building--in one piece.  
  
"Ugh!" Kim breathed as she and Ron ran out of the gate. The momentum nearly toppled her over when she came to a sudden stop, a little past the small ticket counter. "Thank God we're out of that!"  
  
"Aw--yeah." She turned to the blond. The boy slouched while he stood on his feet, cupping his hands on his bent knees for support like an exhausted athlete. She couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. "Not funny, Kim!"  
  
"Not my fault that you look like a runner after a triathlon." She giggled. "And you didn't even move an inch!"  
  
"Not my fault, KP." He panted. "Don't tell me it wasn't like a gas chamber between those two oinkers."  
  
"I'm not saying it wasn't," she breathed in deeply, basking in the sheer relief of the circulated air, "but you sure as heck didn't see me making faces the whole flight."  
  
The boy stood up straight, his back almost rolling from the bottom up as he leveled his chest properly back onto his waist. He took in a big sniff and his chest puffed out for a moment, easing back into its proper size with a sigh. "Whatever you say, KP."  
  
"Touché."  
  
"Do you have our bag?" he asked.  
  
"It was placed into cargo." She replied as she dug into one of her larger pockets. "We'll pick it up at the baggage check. But after we collect our package."  
  
"Couldn't you have just asked that Hershel lady for it right off the bat?"  
  
"When we play with governments," she explained, "we play by their rules. Not by ours."  
  
The tips of her fingers touched the bottom of the pocket, the pads running across the folds of raw cloth that made up the seam until one touched paper. They pinched it, and she pulled the little strip out, eyes running over the pretty curves of English.  
  
"Ron, look under the seats over there." She pointed to the nearby rows of plastic seats, welded to their jagged steel frames. The blonde went on all fours, his blond capped head sweeping from side to side in periods like a security camera. She sighed while his head swayed. Taped under the seats; it was just so typical. For once, couldn't they have gotten a little creative with their dead drop points, just once?  
  
His head stopped in the midst of a move, the neck angled to the left.  
  
"I see it." He stood up and strolled over to the first row, disappearing beneath the plastic briefly and then shooting up from below with a thick manila envelope in hand. "Got it."  
  
"Bring it here." The manila took a fatter shape, the bulkiness of the middle flattening out on the paper like a mesa as the boy brought it closer.  
  
"This is the package?" the boy cocked an eyebrow as his gaze dropped to it. "To tell the truth, Kim. When Hershel said package, I thought she meant like in a box."  
  
"Don't judge a book by its cover, Ron." It let out a crinkle when she took it from his hands. One swooped below and her fingers scratched at the metallic fastening. "It could just be a map after all. Wouldn't make sense to drop a big *something* in a busy airport."  
  
"Yeah." He nodded. "Who knows who'd find it, right?"  
  
"My thoughts exactly."  
  
The pads of her fingers managed to grasp the fastening, pinching its ends together and she felt the flap touch onto her nails. She drew her hand back; the back of her thumb drew the flap open while her fingers smoothly slid the papers out.  
  
"Hmm." she laid the documents out on the envelope, her makeshift table. A large brown file pressed against her arm trough the envelope while a few cards sat on top. Two had their photos--their recent, god- awful school photos--laminated onto the plastic while the other was a simple 3x5, the handwriting all Hershel's pretty curves. "Fake ID's, passports and a note."  
  
"What's our cover?" he asked.  
  
"Let's see. I'm Jane McCormick." She nodded, and she let out a small chuckle when her eyes caught the text beneath the twisted visage that was the boy's yearbook photo.  
  
"What?" he persisted.  
  
"You--You're Richard Head." She laughed. "That's funny!"  
  
The boy cocked an eyebrow. ".I don't see the connection."  
  
"Forget about it." She scooped up the ID and passport and tossed it to him like throwing stars. The card and the little book seemingly flopped and floundered around his arms as he tried to get a grasp. She skimmed over the pretty black lines of the card. "Seems like we're staying at. hold on. oh--The Andel's Hotel Prague in the Andel City complex, under your name."  
  
"Now how are we supposed to get there?" he asked. "Take the bus?"  
  
"No." she read. "Seems like she was kind enough to rent us a car, under my name. While I'll go get the keys and the paperwork filled out, you can get to the baggage check and get our stuff."  
  
"Will do, KP."  
  
She turned away, and the second her first step touched the hard carpet, the boy's voice swirled into her ears predictably.  
  
"KP?" he asked.  
  
She rolled her eyes as she looked over her shoulder. "Yeah Ron?" she moaned. "What is it?"  
  
"Um. don't we have customs to get through?"  
  
The palm of her hand met her forehead in irritation, pulling at her cheeks as it slid down her face. "Ugh. right!"  
  
*Why I bothered with the State Department, I'll never know. *  
  
***  
  
This wasn't a car she'd consider stepping into for a drive around town. It was more like a domesticated Gremlin under a fancy Czech name--or wherever this tacky thing came from. The lady at the rental counter called the car a "Skoda Estelle", a typical car found in most of Western Europe. Good for cover only in Europe; she nodded as she sank into the bucket seat, 'cause the junk heap wouldn't last a day in the gas guzzling US.  
  
The grand, olden architecture seemed to veer to the left periodically, only to whip back into place with a small screech of the tires. She trailed her eyes to the right, to where the driver's seat was built in the cramped vehicle. Ron wore a carefree smile on his lips, the fingers of one hand barely curving around the wheel while the other blindly fiddled with the unusually straight dashboard.  
  
"Will you ease off the light-speed, Ron?" she moaned for probably the eighth time. "I know you're a little excited about finally getting your license and all, but you got to remember they go by kilometers here, not miles. And people here drive on the left, not the right."  
  
"I know, KP." He nodded severely. "I watched all 20 James Bond movies back home. International speed limits have nothing on the Ron Factor!"  
  
Her eyebrow cocked out of habit. "What are you talking about?" she said. "I thought you were over that."  
  
"Over, but not forgotten Kim." He grinned. "I'm like that splash of Diablo Sauce on your burrito. The meal is just not complete without it."  
  
"You didn't have anything to eat this morning, did you?" she pressed.  
  
"Um." his mouth twisted in thought, "nope--sure didn't!"  
  
"We'll pick up something after we check in." she gazed down at the thick file sitting on her lap. "At least keep us on the street until then."  
  
Her palms touched down upon the cold surface of the file, curving naturally as they straightened out. Her closest thumb pressed into the paper while her index curved around the edge, twisting her wrist and leveling her elbow as she flipped the cover open.  
  
"Why don't you just have Wade fish that stuff out for you?" the boy asked, and she felt her seat shift underneath.  
  
"One:" she explained, "I can't get this much detail by myself, even with Wade's computer skills. Two: even if he did managed to hack in, the government will shut us down permanently--no question about it."  
  
"Why would they go do that for?" he asked.  
  
"The government wasn't too thrilled with us after Escutcheon, and how Wade went snooping into their servers." She explained while she skimmed over the loose-leaf innards of the file. "They promised us if we ever so much as stepped out of line, they'd personally throw us in jail."  
  
"Pf--" Ron said, "that's gratitude for you! Just no pleasing the world, is there?"  
  
"Exactly." she trailed off as she continued to read. Her stomach twisted when she caught where the curly haired strangler was last seen. "Oh-- great!"  
  
"What?" she felt her butt move to the left as Ron made a sharp right, the tires letting out a soft screech all around.  
  
"Mr. Bonnet is staying at our hotel!" She pressed her lips together. "We're going to have to be careful."  
  
"Man!" The boy moaned. "Why'd they have to choose the same damn place? What was wrong with one a few city blocks away?"  
  
"Not sure exactly." She nodded. "But security sweeps of his own hotel won't be the most of his problems."  
  
"Oh--the last place he'll ever look!" he said in a falsetto. "Gotcha KP."  
  
"Good." She closed the file, and her chin met the heel of her hand as she gazed out into the city. The people of Prague looked as busy as ever as they whipped jaggedly by, either shopping for whatnot or strolling aimlessly without a care in the world. A sigh escaped her mouth as her eyes caught the face of a little girl, skipping happily down the cobbled sidewalk. She used to be just like that, innocent and ignorant of the evil and maliciousness of the world around. Amazing how she dealt with before her first assignment popped onto her website.  
  
"Anything wrong?" the boy asked. She pushed her back against the seat, letting her body sink into the scratch cloth. Her head rolled onto its side, her eyes glued to the boy preoccupied with guiding the domestic POS.  
  
"No. not right now." She yawned.  
  
"Not right now?" he said rhetorically.  
  
"I don't know, Ron." She closed her eyes, and her form slid lower in the seat. "Maybe I'm just worrying over nothing."  
  
"Care to talk about it?" he asked. "Not good to keep rotten stuff bottled up."  
  
"Ron." she said seriously, "do you ever wonder how'd life be like if I didn't start my website?"  
  
"Hmm. no--not really." He said. "We'd probably be back in Middleton, enjoying the end of our sophomore year in high school. You'd be busy with Josh while I'm stuck dateless. Where'd this come from all of the sudden?"  
  
"Not sure--just after all the things we've seen and done," she elaborated on her squeaky train of thought, "we can finally see this world for what it is. And now after Escutcheon." her hand trailed to her belly, feeling it pulsate on her palm, "and family Drazen--I'm beginning to regret it."  
  
"Kim." Ron said soothingly, and she felt his larger hand press against hers. "You've helped a lot of people over these couple of years. They probably wouldn't be alive if you didn't."  
  
"But what good is that if they'd just throw it back in my face?" she argued, and her mind pondered to why she even bothered having these discussions with the boy. "A few days after our intervention, they'll probably forget what the heck happened."  
  
"No they won't, Kim." She felt his larger fingers wiggle themselves between her own, lacing his with hers it would seem. "Later down the road they'll seem to forget, but they'll never forget the person who reached out to them in their time of need. You've given them hope, Kim. That's something that the world hasn't given them."  
  
"Is this that Jewish thing that's talking?" she chuckled.  
  
"Now why'd you say that?" he shot her a quick look.  
  
"Because this isn't the Ron I typically see." She shook her head. "Are you a body snatcher by chance?"  
  
"No Kim." He chuckled, and her butt shifted to the right as he made a left. "But the one-and-only Ron Stoppable seems to have gotten us lost."  
  
"Lost?" she blinked. "What do you mean lost?"  
  
"I don't know, KP." He gazed out his window while the car eased to a stop at a red light. "I see all these road signs with the same damn name! I mean--I see Stroupe-something number 15, Praha 4, Your Lost Infinity, take your pick cause I sure as heck don't know!"  
  
"Don't worry, Ron." She smiled warmly. "Our hotel is on Stroupeznickeho 21. If you can get to that street, you should find it somewhere on it."  
  
"Okay KP." He squeezed her hand--and she felt a small tingle in her chest, a good tingle as if she had just saw Josh walk right ahead of her--  
  
--*VROOM! *--  
  
--Only to become urban road-kill as the POS took off when the light turned green. She pressed deeper into the seat, feeling the leather touch her cheekbones before the car eased into a steady speed.  
  
"Ron!" she whipped off his hand like it had suddenly become disgustingly clammy, as if it belonged to that Lamar dork at back at the Middleton Theater's box office. "Slow down!"  
  
***  
  
ONE DAY LATER  
  
Tara was simply awestruck at the grand beauty that was Prague: the sheer grandiose of gothic architecture, the pristine waters of the river Moldau, and just about everything that rolled by gently in her car window. Though grandpa was happy to tell her of his days in Austria, never in her life did she dream that she ever get to see Europe, even a small piece of it.  
  
Until Yune fractured his arm, that is.  
  
She eased her glassy gaze from off the car's small window, shifting them to the Asian beside her in the back seat. Yune sat quietly, his head hanged on his neck like a grape to its vine, his dark eyes hidden by his almond eyelids. His sling dangled from his shoulder as lifelessly as the arm it held, swaying gently for every bump the car rolled over.  
  
"Yune?" she said quietly, as if she was coaxing him from slumber. The legal adult hadn't said anything since they took their first steps off of the plane. "Are you okay over there?"  
  
".Just fine." He yawned. "Peachy!"  
  
"Anything on your mind?" she shifted closer to him, so close she could feel the static tingle jump from his jeans. "You haven't said anything since we got here."  
  
"It's nothing T." he nodded. "I'm just trying to rest."  
  
"That's okay." She smiled as the words entered into her ears. T; it was his special nickname just for her. The second the epithet left his lips for the first time, she instantly fell in love with it. "I think you'll feel better when you get some food in you."  
  
"No." he said softly, batting his narrow eyes open. "I wasn't talking about my hunger at all. For years, I've tried to run away from battle. And now I'm being dragged back to it by something less than a war. My life is just one big party over here, isn't it?"  
  
"Hey, don't think like that." She pressed her back squarely against the seat, feeling her shirt shift on the slick leather. "It's probably nothing. Most likely we'll be in the stands, watching as Kim does her job."  
  
"With her target in mind, it never is." He stated.  
  
"You worry too much." She closed her eyes for a brief power-nap. She felt like they'd been in the car for hours, while her man's mysterious contact gradually ferried them away to parts unknown. "Are we there yet?" she giggled quietly.  
  
"The Hotel Prague is about a block away." The withdrawn chauffer said from the driver's seat. "Have your things ready."  
  
"They're in the trunk, remember?" she stifled her giggle. Even Yune let out a chuckle through his pressed lips as the driver let out a groan.  
  
"Why I bother, I'll never know." the driver mumbled.  
  
***  
  
Kim was taken aback, her saucer eyes beaming the surprise as her late recruit staggered through the door. His left arm dangled uselessly in a sling, face twisted in slight pain as his helper eased him through the portal. The helper's head was capped with familiar blonde, wavy hair, belonging to only a person that she thought was still back in Middleton, simply enjoying the rest of the summer.  
  
"Tara?" she blinked, and blinked again. No matter how many times her eyelashes batted together, the blonde girl wouldn't leave her sight.  
  
"The one and only." The girl sheepishly smiled as she eased the Korean into a nearby chair. "Easy does it, Yune."  
  
"What the heck are you doing here!?" she frowned. "You could ruin everything!"  
  
"We were in a car accident, Kim." The girl said calmly-yet-loudly. "Calm down! Yune fractured his arm and ribs, and he needs help getting around."  
  
"Yeah--well." she stuttered, "don't think you're staying!"  
  
"Kim!" the Korean breathed, his long face twisted in pain. "I'm no use to you in this condition. And Mr. Naco at the TV set over yonder doesn't know the first thing about medicine!"  
  
"Hey--I resent that!" Mr. Naco himself called dismissively from the couch.  
  
"UH. --HUH!" her ears could just barely pick up the whiny squeak of the rat over Ron's obnoxiously loud chewing.  
  
"Look Kim." The Korean continued. "T over here can help me around while you and Ron are in the field. Even those Mossad people agree with me, and they'll even pick up our tab."  
  
"We won't get in the way, Kim." The blonde smiled warmly. "We promise."  
  
"Uh." a small migraine thumped in her head while her eyes rolled full circle. "Okay. Be our guests if you must. But don't think this is a game Tara, 'cause it's far from it. There are dangerous people out there who wouldn't hesitate to crack your skull wide open if they had the chance."  
  
"Ugh!" the blonde rolled her eyes. "You think everyone's out to get you--I swear!"  
  
"Ease off, T." Yune nodded. "She does have a point."  
  
"T?" Ron said teasingly, playfully like a 10-year-old schoolboy. But she couldn't help but cock an eyebrow at the presumably term of affection. "Hmm. do I sense a crush story here?"  
  
"Back off, Ron." She said.  
  
"What?" he asked. "It's not my fault that the enquiring minds of the Middleton High School public want to know."  
  
"This coming from a proven yellow journalist?" she looked at him, chuckling as she gazed at that stuffed face smeared with sauce. She felt her eyebrow kink just as it was beginning to lower.  
  
"I don't see the connection." He shook his head.  
  
"Misrepresentation mishaps aside," she sighed dismissively, "let's get back down to it. So I bet you're wondering why you're here, right?"  
  
"Tara probably is, but I'm not." The Asian said. "You want to get close to Bonnet, correct?"  
  
"Precisely." Her legs carried her to the empty chair nearby, and she couldn't help but grin as her rump sank into the cushy softness. "Hmm. comfy."  
  
"And?" the older kid pressed. "I didn't fly half way around the globe to play fill-in-the-blanks."  
  
"*We* didn't fly half way around the world." The blonde corrected.  
  
She folded her hands together as her eyes took a second lap around the rims of her sockets. "Right." she mumbled. "Is there anything you can tell us from your first encounter?"  
  
"Of course." He nodded and he angled his head up to the blonde, who was sitting on the arm of the chair. "T, could you give us a few minutes?"  
  
"Sure." The girl smiled, and she pushed herself onto her feet. "Anything you want?"  
  
"Feel free to walk around the complex, Tara." She nodded. "Just keep away from the floor above. That's Bonnet's floor."  
  
"Right." The girl said as she walked toward the door. Her feet slipped easily into her shoes as if they were clogs, walking out of the room and closing the cream colored door behind.  
  
"Now. is there anything you can tell me about this Shia person?" she asked professionally.  
  
"I don't know much about him, since I met him only once." He dropped his head as she caught sight of his narrow eyes closing in thought. Her back met the soft cushion of the chair, and she leaned into directly as if she was listening to her Nana tell a tale from days long past. "It was back when I was with Col. Drazen's outfit, still trying to find a way out. We were in France on a contract assignment to assist the French government in their efforts to quell the fighting between its vast population of Muslims and the shrinking Jewish minority."  
  
"The French actually asked the geezer for help?" she blinked.  
  
"Just like them!" Ron bitterly dropped his two cents onto the conversation. "The French military couldn't even beat a girl's hockey team if they tried."  
  
"How'd they pull it off with Uzi in the mix?" she said.  
  
"He was in Israel, showing the PLO what for at the time." The Asian continued. "My squad was dispatched to Paris on an assignment to flush out a violent murderer among the Jewish population. Seems he had a habit of strangling Muslims and skinheads every time a synagogue was torched. Eventually my group caught up with his gang and we arrested them, handing them over the police when they arrived, but Shia was gone."  
  
"Then how'd you meet up?" she asked.  
  
"After the group was properly detained, we all broke up for lunch." He continued. "Unprofessional, I know, but we were all hungry. After I ate, I headed to our rally point and when I got there, my whole. group--"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Dead.! My whole group!" he shook his head furiously. "As I bent down to check for life--he attacked me. Almost succeeded too, if I didn't pop him one in the stomach. He managed to hobble away as I struggled for air, but I'll never forget that look when we locked eyes."  
  
"Hmm. great!" she clapped her hands together, lacing the fingers together. "I'm dealing with the Boston Strangler! Is there anything else that you can tell me, like any medical problems?"  
  
"He does have that 9mm stuck in his gut." He whipped his head back fiercely. "Gives him trouble time to time, but I wouldn't bet my house on it. Best way to take him out of play is from afar. You got a sniper rifle, like a SVD?"  
  
"Wouldn't know." She curved her neck around as she glanced behind the chair. Ron sat there by the TV, finishing the last of his room-serviced meal while Rufus fiddled with the TV's remote. "Ron, did you find anything in the room?"  
  
"Nope." He called through his stuffed lips. "Nothing's here, not even a PPK."  
  
"Hmm." the older kid mumbled. "Then you're going to have to tread carefully. All I can say is stay out of his way, and he won't strangle you. Is there anything else I can help you with?"  
  
"No." she nodded. "That will be all, Yune, but I would like you to stay with us throughout the mission."  
  
"Agreed." Yune said. "But I have a condition of my own."  
  
".What will that be?" she asked in good form, like she didn't know the Korean's wish already.  
  
"I want Tara to stay with me." He said firmly. "She can help me around here while I give you moral support."  
  
"Have you forgotten already?" she smiled honestly. "I said she could stay. But you're going to have to keep an eye on here. I don't have the time to baby-sit."  
  
"Baby-sit?" the Asian's thin eyebrow kinked on his tan brow, and a simple smirk exaggerated a corner of his mouth. "From what I've read, T's older than you by about a month."  
  
"What??" she blinked.  
  
"It's true!" he laughed. "I saw the yearbook profiles: Kimberly Anne Possible, born March 20th, 1986; Tara Hilmar Stark, born February 3rd, 1986."  
  
"Tara can't be older than me!" her eyes boggled. "She's not as mature!"  
  
"Mature or not, Kim, it doesn't change the fact that T's your senior." The Korean nodded. "And you'll treat her as such."  
  
"Or you'll what, broken wing?" she challenged, and her shaking hands nearly pierced the fabric of the chair.  
  
"Or I won't treat you to dinner tonight." He arced his nose into the air, and from behind she heard Ron scramble to his feet through the sharp wobbling of many a paper.  
  
"Oh--COME ON! That's cruel and unusual punishment, Yune!" the boy called. "Have you ever read the Constitution?"  
  
"We're not in America anymore, son." He stated.  
  
"Well I'll have you know, *son*, that the Ron Factor.!"  
  
Kim sighed as the two boys bickered like children over nothing, gently letting her body sink into the cushion of the chair. So what if Tara was older? As long as the blonde and the Korean pulled their weight, she wouldn't mind the extra company.  
  
"Thank God I'm in Europe," her chin met the palm of her hand, the elbow steady on the chair's cushy arm, "'cause I could use a drink right about now."  
  
***  
  
Tara felt butterflies flap their way up her chest as a small group of German tourists walked by. One of them approached her, addressing her in their native Deutsche, presumably appropriately. She looked shyly away, her lips in a flattered smile while she inwardly wanted to kick herself a good one.  
  
*Should have paid more attention to grandpa's language lessons! *  
  
"Sorry." She had carefully said in her grandfather's native tongue. The pale brows of the tourists had kinked at her unpracticed accent. "But I don't speak German. I'm American."  
  
The two looked at each other, their heads bobbing momentarily before they waved their goodbyes. She had waved back when the two had mixed back into their tour group, and the mass of Germans moved slowly out of the room at the sound of their own discombobulated chatter.  
  
"Hmm. so this is the bar." She thought aloud as her eyes wondered across the semi-lavish room, complete with the bar stands on the nearby wall. The glass shelves where filled with every kind of liquor imaginable, many a variety of bottles sitting in front of a large mirror that gave it an illusion of an endless supply. It wasn't as noisy as the bars back home, but it was rather quiet while the sparse patrons imbibed their drinks in solitude. "Nice."  
  
She coolly walked up to a bar stool, leaping on top of the plush red cushion as if it were a gymnastics horse. Her worn shoes dangled from her toes briefly before the soles touched onto the foot bar. The barkeep strolled up to her indifferently, and she felt her heart quicken its pace.  
  
"Um." her mouth parted slightly. "Do you--speak English?"  
  
"Indeed." The stuffy-looking man said politely in a Russian like accent--a very familiar accent her ears caught not too long ago. "Will you have anything to drink today, madam?"  
  
"Um." she shyly looked away, mockingly in thought. She had never been to a bar before, and her mind pondered habitually--needlessly by her own judgment.  
  
*What am I doing? * She shook her head gently. *This is Europe, and I can drink if I want. *  
  
"Um." she muttered again. "Do you have any Heineken?"  
  
"Of course, Madam. Plenty of it." The barkeep replied politely, as he disappeared underneath the bar table. It was good that beer was in great supply since the German ale was the only beer she had tasted. with a little help from her grandfather. It was their little secret when she was over at his house, and she'd been faithful to the promise ever since. "You Germans are all the same."  
  
"I'm Austrian, thank you." Her brow furrowed slightly.  
  
The barkeep chuckled softly as lifted back up with a green-labeled can in his hand, a mini keg can at that. Grandfather typically advised not to drink from a can, but rather from a bottle.  
  
*Well gramps isn't here, is he? *  
  
"Austrian. German." The man said dismissively as he popped the top, placing the keg down professionally upon the ebony tabletop. "Prussia! Bavaria! Two different countries with the same *friendly* people, if you ask me."  
  
"As my grandfather would say," she took into her hand the keg and pressed the chilled brim against her lips, "'don't confuse your heritage with those Nazis!'"  
  
"Even though Austria gave Germany the man of the Third Reich to begin with." The man chuckled, and she felt her eyes rolling in their sockets. "That'll be 2 Euros please."  
  
Her eyes widened as her other hand clasped over the bulge in her jeans that was her wallet.  
  
"Oh." she cringed. "Do you take dollars?"  
  
"Sorry miss." The barkeep said impassively. "But the buck literally stops here."  
  
"Ease up, Arthur." Someone said close by, voice thick with an accent-- American accent. She looked over, and another patron walked casually over to her barstool. Curly hair capped his boyish--really *boyish* head, and his hand slammed the banknote onto the tabletop as if he meant something by it. "I'll pay for--this lovely German's drink."  
  
"Ugh--!" she growled. "I'm *not* German!"  
  
The barkeep took the bill into his spidery grasp. The simple symbol of the European super-state crinkled and it disappeared into his rather large palm. "It'd be best, sir, if you didn't confuse this lady's heritage with those Nazi's."  
  
The barkeep laughed quietly, growing a bit softer as he trailed down the narrow space to the cash register. His attention drew to another customer as the guy took a seat--err--stool.  
  
"Um. thanks." She smiled awkwardly, the smile dropping as the cold brim of the can touched her lips again. "I've really got to find an exchange around here."  
  
"Don't mention it." The kid took a stool next to her. "Sorry about the mix up. I saw your complexion, and I saw the drink, and I put two-and- two together and I ended up getting five."  
  
"Happens to me all the time." She giggled. "Don't worry about it. People always mistake me for German, and I'm beginning to resent it."  
  
"Right." The kid nodded. "Oh--by the way, my name is Shia and as you can guess, I'm not from here."  
  
She couldn't help but giggle again. "He--. My name is Tara and I'm not from here either."  
  
"I guessed that--!" the kid let out a cough. It was small at first, like some spit rolled down the wrong pipe, but then it grew into a fully blown hack. She slowly looked away from the boy, her ears assaulted by the broken sounds as phlegm worked itself into the discord. Even the two near the register looked on in bewilderment.  
  
"Uh--are you okay?" she asked nervously. "Need some water or something?"  
  
The boy named Shia keeled over, his hands pressed against his gut and he let out a loud, painful moan. "Oh. I'm fine--!" he breathed. "Damn stomach ulcer!"  
  
She cocked an eyebrow. "Stomach ulcer?" she said rhetorically.  
  
"Yeah-- .Oh damn!" he sniffed, and he lifted a hand to brush his nose furiously. "Sorry to cut it short--Tara. But I need my medicine! OH!!"  
  
The barstool clanged piercingly as it toppled backwards with the kid. He hopped off it right before the object met the floor, and he raced for the bar room door the second his feet touched the ground. The door let out a *BAM* as the guy raced through it, disappearing behind the wood slab as it swung calmly back into place.  
  
".What was that all about?" she blinked. 


	6. Chapter 6

6  
  
"Okay!" Kim overheard the goofy blond joking with the other blonde and the Asian who sat at the glass round table. The two had joined them for a quick breakfast, courtesy of room service, before the day's work ensued. "I'm telling you this is a conspiracy--a *real* conspiracy!  
  
"Here's the deal: Phil Donahue and Sarah Jessie Raphael are both old; they wear glasses, and they both host a talk show. So logically speaking: Phil Donahue and Sarah Jessie Raphael are the same person!"  
  
Hysterical laughter cried out from the table, blending together in a howling discord as she joined in from the couch. Hard and metallic objects clattered momentarily, and she glanced over to see a mat of wavy blonde hair had spilled onto the table, the girl's shoulders shaking uncontrollably as she laughed. The Korean's cheeks were puffed, and his amusement came out in lengthy, drawn out snorts as he sat back.  
  
Ron looked hurt, which only fueled her amusement. "What?" he exclaimed. "It's true!"  
  
"So all they have to do is switch wigs and glasses?" the blonde cocked her head up, her chin resting on the tabletop while her fingers worked the loose strands of hair out of her face. The girl sat up, her small back pressing into the chair and sliding down as she slouched. "You're crazy, Ron."  
  
"It's up there with that oh-so 'edgy expose' you did on math, Ron." Kim grinned playfully as the blond shot her a broken look.  
  
"But that was one of my best works!" the boy's mud eyes were wide as saucers.  
  
"Pf--so *not* the drama!" her eyes rolled, her legs crossing as she shifted her body around. "I swear you take things too seriously!"  
  
"I don't hear any choppers humming outside our windows, Ron." The Korean chimed in, a sarcastic smirk played across his thin lips. "So I guess we're safe."  
  
"Oh--leave me alone!" there was a *thump* and short-lived clatter as the messy blond head fell onto the table.  
  
"YEAH.!" that little rodent squeaked out from his pocket burrow. Her eyes took a trip around her sockets while a sigh escaped through her parted lips.  
  
*BEEP--BEEP--BEEP--EEP. *  
  
Her hands instantly darted for the bag that sat at the foot of the couch--seemingly instinctively prowling for the bulky PDA that laid somewhere within the darkness of the bag. Like pincers, her fingers latched onto the device the second a pad of a finger ran across its coarse surface. The bag ruffled as she relinquished her PDA into the chilled air, thumbing the oval, red button in the midst of another four-note bleat.  
  
"Hey Wade." She said as the static snow dissipated around his flabby, brown face like thin smoke. "What's the stich?"  
  
Another sigh escaped her mouth as the child let out a yawn. "Be grateful that I started the day at midnight." The words came at the end of his yawn, hollowing the volume out till the very end.  
  
"That important?" she said.  
  
"Yeah." The boy's head dropped, his double chin flattening out before he lifted his head back up. "As you can see.aw.ah! I've spent all night trying to get the Kimmunicator's satellite over Czech airspace without the local military launching an ASAT, clearing it through the necessary channels and such."  
  
"Great." She nodded. "And?"  
  
"Since the guys at the Czech intelligence services. or whatever they're called--"  
  
"Whatever they're called?" she grinned. "That doesn't sound like what a genius should say."  
  
The boy sleepily frowned. "*Anyway*. Since the 'BIS' guys have heard of you and are well impressed with your successful endeavors, they were happy to let the satellite in. And just in time too, since it caught an image of a certain someone I'd think you'd be interested in."  
  
She cocked an eyebrow though her heart skipped a beat. Ten-to-one it was probably a case of mistaken identity. "Mr. Bonnet?" she said skeptically.  
  
"The very same." She blinked as the boy blipped off the tiny screen, only to be replaced with a high-resolution, screen-in-screen image of a birds-eye-view of the Andel City complex. The smaller screen displayed a simple picture of a guy's head, capped with an oversized curly top. "The satellite followed him as he took a bus--the 167, I believe from the Andel station. The facial image your are seeing is when he got off of the bus at the Na Homolce hospital."  
  
"So?" she kicked up her legs onto the couch, sliding down its length so her heels dangled over the edge of the armrest. Her free arm swooped underneath her head and swept out the stretched hair. "That could have been anyone."  
  
"That's what I thought," the boy continued, a bit more energetically, "but something told to me watch him closely. But after an hour after he disappeared into the building, I was about to call it a night when something clicked in my mind."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"Earlier that day, your mother and mine talked for a while on the phone, and I happened to walk downstairs when my mother mentioned something about an experimental computer system your mother was advising on."  
  
"Huh?" she blinked, and then it hit her like a pie in the face. Since before she left for the STS, her mother had been droning on about her latest project involving some newly-grads from MIT. It had something to do with managing the body's production of necessary fluids through a microcomputer planted in the hindbrain. "Oh--! You mean that fluid management system?"  
  
"Exactly!" the black child nodded. "Seems your mother and the MIT squad had finished working out the kinks, and shipped out the first one to Na Homolce a few days prior to your arrival. Kim, didn't you say that Uzi character suffered a head injury?"  
  
"There's no way he could have survived that!" she shook her head furiously.  
  
"Oh come on, Kim." The boy shook his head gently. "If you could survive the spinning whisks of a giant mixer, then there's no reason why he couldn't have taken a blade to the head."  
  
"But--" she closed her eyes as that gory scene played out in her mind like it was on tape: the sheets of blood, the way the metal rang out as the giant blade smashed into his crown, and that severed limb went flying like she and Hershel did for the Osprey. "No! I saw the blood! He's dead!"  
  
"I still think you and Mr. Head should check it out." The boy almost laughed as the words left his droopy mouth. A humored snort flared out her nostrils. "Most likely it'll pan out into nothing."  
  
"But there's still a chance." She nodded. "But it doesn't make sense. What would he be doing here? Even if he somehow did survive, he should be in Israel, right?"  
  
"Excuse me?" that thickly accented voice of Yune entered her ears. Her free hand cupped over the top of the sofa's back, and she hoisted herself up. The Korean had a kink on his brow. "I couldn't help but overhear."  
  
"Well isn't Uzi Israeli?" she asked. "I mean--look at his name!"  
  
"What are you talking about?" the legal adult asked. "He's Czech!"  
  
Her back seemed to straighten out on its own, and she sat up fully. A cold chill ran down her back, starting from her neck down to her tailbone. "What did you say?"  
  
"He's Czech." The Asian folded his arms across his chest. "A wizard with heavy arms and at Krav Maga as you probably saw."  
  
"What the heck are you talking about, Yune?" the blond boy lifted his head off of the tabletop. "I heard the boy cuss after the Harrier crashed, it was Yiddish."  
  
"That doesn't mean a whole lot, given he's Jewish like you." Yune said. There was a pregnant silence after those words; she could see it in Ron's eyes. "I heard him use that Germanic Hebrew too, typically when something under his control gets ugly."  
  
"The only thing I know is that his parents' divorce was a 'purple' one." Tara had her chin resting on her weakly folded arms in front of her, the top half of her chest pressing onto the tabletop.  
  
She could see every one had their eyebrows cocked except for the blonde's.  
  
"What?" the girl's eyes darted between the faces.  
  
"Purple Divorce?" Ron said rhetorically. "I knew people got a little blue and even green under the gills when a divorce happens, but not purple."  
  
"Purple, Velvet!" the girl threw up her hands. "Do I really care that much?"  
  
"Velvet Divorce?" the Asian said. "Oh--1993! The split happened just before Uzi joined his father's outfit. He spent a little time in Yugoslavia just before Col. Drazen found him, but he was only eight years old at the time. But boy did he become a piece of work under his father's wings."  
  
"That does it--!" She nearly tripped when her socked feet slipped and slid dangerously atop her duffle bag, standing up with her feet planted firmly on the carpet after she kicked the bag away. "Thanks for the info, Wade. Get some sleep."  
  
"Will do, Kim--" the youth was cut off in mid-sentence as she pressed her thumb on the button. She pocked the PDA, feeling it tug at her pink flares like a child aching for the attention of his mother.  
  
"Ron, get ready to leave." She bent over the coffee table in front of her and scooped up the keys that sat at the opposite side. Her index finger quickly filed out the ignition key in the metal mess that lay on her palm. The clammy, greasy feeling of keys, she hated it.  
  
"Right, KP." The chair screech on the tile as he pushed away from the glass top table.  
  
"Oh--!" she smirked teasingly. "And Ron?"  
  
"Yeah Kim?" the boy replied.  
  
"I'm driving this time."  
  
The dark irises moved in sync with the shifting of his whites as he let out an exasperated sigh. "Ugh. whatever." He said weakly.  
  
***  
  
Ron smirked inwardly as the small car eased to a stop behind a departing city bus. It took Kim a while to find the right street by herself, her direction suffering from the same mishmash of ill-named streets. The simple fact that she never set foot into a right-handed car didn't help her either. But it all came crystal clear to her when Wade pointed out that the boxy, chocolate colored building they saw out the corners from time to time was the Na Homolce, sitting parallel to a street that he couldn't begin to pronounce.  
  
Kim worked the shifter into park on the steering column, and the car dared to jerk forward an inch the second she removed her shoe from the brake. There was a hollow click, and the seat belt whirred as it drew across her chest, the buckle clacking as it tapped on the wall.  
  
"So this is it, huh?" she thought aloud, and he could see only her fluffy auburn mane when her head turned for the window. "Doesn't look too out of place, except that strange dark and white scheme the painter had going."  
  
"Does everything have to be in season with you, Kim?" he chuckled briefly. "If it isn't on the Style File, than it shouldn't be allowed to live, right?"  
  
"Pf--" the auburn whipped her mane around behind him, her face with a kink her brow and a sardonic glint in her emerald eyes. "Do you think I'm Monique all of the sudden? I'm *so* not anal about fashion like she is."  
  
"Hey!" he threw up his hands in defense. "I'm riding shotgun with the fashion queen!"  
  
"I'm--NOT--the--fashion queen!" she exclaimed. "Now focus, Mr. Head!"  
  
As the word left her mouth, he shook the part in question. "I'll never understand that name." He dismissed.  
  
The friend paid the quip no attention as she angled her back under the steering column for a moment. He noticed a simple, generic pair of binoculars pinched in an average grasp as she moved her body back out. Her other hand moved blindly for the door, her fingers working the window button, and the glass pane seemingly let out a deep hum as it gradually disappeared into the door.  
  
--She gasped as that mane of full, dark orange hair greeted him again. From the sliver of mirror his eyes could catch, Kim's eyes were wide and full of terror.  
  
His heart jumped, nearly stopping as he angled his body closer to her back. "What's wrong?" he asked seriously.  
  
He caught a face full of that mane as it slapped him, as Kim worked the hair behind her for the second time, her eyes beaming nothing of what he caught a moment before. "Thought I saw a zit." She said flatly. "False alarm!"  
  
The mane greeted him for the third time, and he nearly hacked as a few invisible strands worked their way into his nose. He pushed himself away from the driver's seat, and his fingers poked wildly on his tongue as they quested for those elusive threads.  
  
"Hmm--hmm yuck!" his little buddy chimed from his pocket. He looked to see the little guy tug crazily at his pants, cringing slightly as his little claws threatened to puncture the meat of his legs. The rat stood upon its hind legs like a prairie dog on his lap, nodding quickly as it let out a few more squeaks.  
  
"Yeah!" Ron said. "Get those claws of yours trimmed, will you?"  
  
"Hmm.!" the pink brow wrinkled and his little gaze narrowed as his head sank between his shoulders.  
  
"Apache. Longbow--I think!" the mane pressed against the squeaky seat. On her face, her eyes were closed and her full lips were pressed into a thin line. "Ron," she turned to him, "do you wonder why an Israeli gunship is here?"  
  
"If I recall, KP," he cocked an eyebrow, "the Apache's an American design."  
  
"True." She nodded. "But I don't recall seeing an American version boasting that paint job or that six-pointed star either. Someone important is definitely here, and we're going to find out."  
  
The girl blindly operated the door handle, muscles tensing briefly as she pulled it all the way. The door popped, creaking open wide like an old rusty gate. She managed to swing a pink leg outside just as he cupped a hand onto her clothed shoulder.  
  
"Where the heck do we begin?" Ron asked. "This place is huge! And I heard their neuroprogram makes up the bulk of the hospital."  
  
"Uzi has a head serious head injury, Ron." She explained as she shrugged off his hand. "Their neurosurgery department has 61 beds in total, 20 of them devoted to intensive care. His body should be in one of them unless the staff moved it to the morgue already."  
  
"Hmm--yuck! Morgue!" the rat squeaked out, across his loveable features played one of sheer disgust.  
  
"Hopefully, it won't come down to that." He heard faintly as her body unfolded from the cabin. She turned on her heels, and he could see her waist bend before her head popped in through the door. "Ron, I'd like you and Rufus to watch the. the." her eyes looked away in fleeting thought, "what's this thing again?"  
  
"Skoda." He nodded.  
  
"Right." her emerald eyes rolled, and she dropped the binoculars onto the seat. They bounced once upon the warm seat, slowly sliding down the cushion to the back where it stopped. "You two watch the 'Skoda' while I check this out. Okay?"  
  
"Will do, KP." He nodded again, so did Rufus. The rat looked rather cute as he smiled, a pure Stoppable trait if he didn't know different. "And hurry up! I heard it's about lunch time at the nearby Bueno Nacho!"  
  
He and his son shared a laugh as her green eyes took a second lap around her sockets, shutting the door as they neared the finish point. His hands gave his son a gentle squeeze around where his waist would be, as Kim's lovely pink figure shrank in the distance only to disappear though the tinted doors. or were they simple glass in front of a darkened lobby. He couldn't be sure.  
  
"That never gets old, does it buddy?" he felt his smile reach his ears.  
  
"He--huh--yeah!" his son agreed.  
  
***  
  
Shia yawned as his eyes gazed upon the seemingly lifeless body of his friend. He simply laid there, flat upon the hospital bed with the closest hand pressed flat against the mattress. His glassy eye gazing blankly at the ceiling tiles, seemingly studding the surface spotted with tiny holes of various shapes and sizes. His mouth moved flawlessly as ever, only moving after he was spoken to.  
  
Though the friend lay there like a lump on a dead piece of wood, he was grateful to see the guy's blanketed chest rise and fall as it did a few days ago... most of it anyway. If it weren't for the guy, he'd still be back in France and taking out the bitter aggression on the Muslim saps or the many faceless bigots that dared to even touch a synagogue the wrong way. Indifferently, the guy had cut him a deal just before the treacherous French government popped his violent bubble.  
  
"As you can see, I brought you your stuff." his arm swept over the guy's personal affects as if they were on display. Two dangled carelessly by their slings, hooked on the back of the nearby swivel chair and the others depressed the gray cushion as they sat. "Even that disk you always carry around. It took like forever just to sneak them past the staff. Thank God for trench-coats, yeah?"  
  
"Whoopee.." The guy mumbled out. He could see his eyes rolling--err-- what was left of his eyes. The hazel-green eye on the right was still intact, but the left he wasn't sure was rolling at all. A simple orb of white gazed at him blindly, its shifting milky surface moving in sync with the right. "Forgive me if I don't jump for frigging joy. Head injury, you know."  
  
"Um. yeah!" the words stumbled out of his mouth as if he had a bottle beforehand. "Come on now, sir. It's not as bad as you think! Really-- it's not!"  
  
"Tell that to the surgery team.." The guy said flatly. Whether he was talking naturally or not, he couldn't be sure. In fact, no one in the VSA could be sure if he was happy or not, but surely the times when the guy lost his cool were discernable. "My--*barbers*, if you will."  
  
"You'll be fine, sir!" he grinned. "Just like before! I don't know how that wench of yours caught on to us--"  
  
"Maybe 'cause you blew up a plane, ass!" the friend moaned. "Did that little *something* cross your mind yet?"  
  
He tore his gaze away quickly. "Oh.!"  
  
"Oh--OH!?" the friend yelled. "I get a closer shave than what I ever wanted, and all you can say is 'oh'!? My sense of smell's gone! My sense of feeling's gone! Hell--we were lucky that damn Osprey didn't take my head clean off!"  
  
"Sir I--"  
  
"I just wanted to some parts for my brother!" The friend grumbled loudly, angrily. His head moved in slow circles on the pillow, the jagged chunks of raw metal jutting out scratching at the cloth. "Just parts, nothing special--nothing flamboyant! And the next thing I know, I find you causing havoc and mayhem with a damn rock-'em, sock-'em robot to show for it!"  
  
"Sir, that was nothing more than a distraction." He said flatly. "No one got hurt! Surely, there were a few injuries but nothing mortal."  
  
"*Oy*.!" Growled the friend.  
  
"You wanted parts, and I got parts!" he threw up his hands. "Besides, I left the guys back at Middleton one of your father's old notes. It should have thrown them off for a while."  
  
"I'm not even talking about your calling card, Shia!" the friend's "eyes" boggled. "What the heck are the guys back at the Organ Grinder going to do with that robot? I don't remember the VSA having a Robot Rumble team, do you?"  
  
"Um--uh."  
  
"I swear your nuts would be in a vice if Galil wasn't in critical condition!" the friend yelled.  
  
"Yeah--and the Organ Grinder buddies can use pieces from that robot to patch him up!" he grinned nervously, and he moved his foot a step behind him for good measure. "I read it in a magazine a while back, sir. Ergonomics is the way of the future!"  
  
"Pf--great!" those creepy eyes of his rolled again, and the pitch and the timbre of his flat voice changed dramatically like a stereotypical announcer. "The tale of my crazy brother: when he's not drenching himself in kerosene and playing the human torch, he's taken the art of prosthetics to where prosthetics have never gone before! Where man. and machine-- become one!! Give me a break!"  
  
"Um." he snorted erratically, pushing a laugh back down his throat so persistently that he almost choked. "Is there any other business we can discuss--*hem*--sir?"  
  
"Shia, Shia, Shia.." The twisted shards of metal crowning his shaved scalp bounced on the pillow, bobbing his head in sheer annoyance. He could have sworn he saw a little piece of fluff inch its way out of the pillow. "Where can I start? If the increasing amounts of kidnappings back home are not enough, soon that *putz* of a Prime Minister will turn over all legal control of the Temple Mount to the Palestinian Authority!"  
  
"What??" he blinked, and a sudden rage flushed up within him. Through his gloves, he could feel his fingernails press against his palm. "That wasn't a part of the Road Map to Perdition--I--I mean Peace! What the hell's he thinking?"  
  
"I just saw it on the news today!" the friend explained. "Mr. *Putz* thinks the age old scuffle will cease once the Muslims get their bloody little hands upon the mount--*our* mount! 'A good will gesture', he wholeheartedly dubbed it."  
  
"Good will gesture?" he ground his teeth together. "Doesn't he mean 'good- will-hunting'?"  
  
"And Mr. *Putz* wonders why his people formed this ragtag group." He could see that metal-capped head shake gently. "I swore his eyes boggled when the dumb ass learned that I was in charge. So we try to do our civic duty, to us. and to God. But when we try to carry it out, he sends in the wench and the Blondie to put us out of commission!"  
  
"Uh.?" he blinked. "I thought the wench came in on her own?"  
  
The head pulled itself up, and he could see a little flesh from his bare shoulders peek out from under the sheets. He could just barely see the kink of his eyebrow, or what was left of it through the many deep and twisted ravines that were scars.  
  
"Pf--shut up!" he flopped his perverted head back onto the pillow. "She's probably in on the wet-work now!"  
  
"Right--!" his teeth clenched tighter, and he felt his knees buckle and slam onto the tile on their own. His arms wrapped tightly around his gut as the pain burned its course, consuming the whole of his abdomen. "OH--!"  
  
"It's happening again?" he could just barely hear the voice over the rattling of his medicine. He managed to relinquish a hand from his gut, and he stabbed it into his chest pocket. He ripped out the orange bottle and bit off the stubborn cap the second his fingers touched solid. The brim pushed against his lips, and he could faintly feel the small tablets pile onto his tongue.  
  
"Yes. --ugh!" he swallowed the bunch, nearly choking on them as his body slowly--painfully worked them down. "Second time in a week! It's hard to be a chick magnet when you look like you're about to keel over! I could have sworn I had this cute German babe eating out of my palm in no time."  
  
"Oh.!" for the first time since that accident, the friend actually chuckled. "But what about your African princess that your klezmer just can't keep their hands off of?"  
  
"She's still mine." his fingers wrapped around the edge of the cap before he pushed himself back onto his feet. The digits easily refitted the cap, feeling it synch into place, and the pills rattled shortly while they dropped back into his chest pocket. "Regardless of what those brats down in Tel Aviv think! But when worse comes to worse, I'd like to have a back up plan."  
  
"Shia Bonnet, big time hustler!" the guy laughed. "But have you been monitoring my Geneva account as of late? Like I asked?"  
  
"Yes I have, good buddy." he nodded. "I gave the Senior coot the numbers, and the numbers started rolling in a moment after. As of now, you are the proud owner of 150 million Euros in gold bullion."  
  
"Excellent!" the friend grinned. "Issue the order to the boys at Organ Grinder. After they get done fixing Galil, get them ordering the necessary equipment with the lists. The VSA is finally about to go online, and were starting with the Organ Grinder itself."  
  
"Remodeling time--right." he nodded. "I'll get right on it. The second team is about to arrive for duty, so you don't have to worry about Ms. Wench. Isn't that right, good buddy?"  
  
He spun on his booted heels, and he was ready to make his leave. He reached for the door, but as his fingers curled around the knob, that flat voice shattered the stillness of the hospital air; a true sign that indeed his boss has returned.  
  
"Shia?" his boss said quietly.  
  
He looked over his shoulder while his fingers continued to work the knob. "Yes sir?"  
  
"Don't ever call me 'good buddy' again."  
  
"Ugh." he sighed while he pushed the door ajar. "Yes sir!"  
  
*He's back, all right. *  
  
***  
  
"Don't ever call me good buddy again." Kim's ears could just barely hear the voice as she rounded the corner, but she dragged her foot back around and pressed her back to the wall as she surely saw the door go ajar.  
  
"Ugh." that goofy, americanized voice sighed through the parted portal. Her heart crawled its way up her throat, quickening its pace as the thought clicked in her mind. "Yes sir!"  
  
Shia is here; she had no doubts sneaking aboard her speeding train of thought. The door shut rather quickly, not even a sound creaked out though she heard those light footsteps growing softer and softer till her ears couldn't pick them up. Her fists clenched tightly as she moved her head around the corner.  
  
"Empty." she breathed quietly, and her body followed as she brought it around. She was in no immediate danger, but still she walked quietly for the door that she saw, touching one shoe down in front of the other by the heel and slowly letting it down at the edge. It was harder to pull off with the sheer thickness of the soles, but she quieted it down so that even a pin could be heard as if it touched the dark floor.  
  
They let out a little screech as she shifted quickly against the wall, the steel knob less than an arm's length away. She could feel the blood rush to her face as her soft fingers wrapped around the solid handle, the hidden parts shifting and rattling quietly as she gave it a gentle twist. Her teeth pressed through her lips, and with a huff she managed to pull the heavy door open.  
  
Her arms began a tug of war upon the door, just as she slipped through it. The knob hand tugging hard while the other pressed flat against the door, exerting a little less pressure into the action. The fire door closed quietly, her wrist working the knob so the curved bar could clear the frame with ease.  
  
"Whew." she dragged the back of her hand across her brow, feeling the little drops spread unevenly across her crown. "That was easy." She breathed.  
  
Denim brushed tightly upon her knees, pressing them together as she moved the right leg behind and to the left. The room spun smoothly on an axis while she spun on a heel and a ball.  
  
*Whoa! * Her mind whispered, and her eyes grew bigger when she caught site of the nearby chair. The cushion was like a display case as a gun shop, its small pillow exhibiting weapons she had run across before: a simple, black Desert Eagle snuggled with its smaller "Baby" counterpart, partially blanketed by a lengthy curved blade: a kukri, she remembered seeing it with the Nepalese. Two UZI submachine guns hanged carelessly from their olive slings as if the chair's back was a coat rack. *Déjà vu on me. *  
  
The blade let out a quiet *SHING* as its thin belly drew across the pistols' surface, her other hand scooping up the Desert Eagle's baby while she set the blade back down. How she remembered the gun as she gazed at its cramped shape; it was the same kind of gun she gave to Ron a month ago. back on Escutcheon.  
  
*Uzi.* she quietly worked the slide back, taken slightly aback as she found that the barrel wasn't locked like its mother. A smear of brass caught her eyes, slowly disappearing into the chamber as she carefully worked the breach closed. Her hair patted onto her back and she locked eyes with the plastic partition.  
  
For her target was just behind it.  
  
***  
  
"Ugh.!" Uzi carefully turned his neck on the severed pillow. He could feel the smooth-yet-rigid feathers brush against his cheeks, and he snuggled into the shredded texture. "When is my damn surgery?"  
  
The surgery couldn't come soon enough; he wanted those damn pieces of scrap removed from his skull. Not there was much too look at after the blades have been removed, he could easily see his. *reflection* glinting upon the steel cart mere inches from his bed. Many girls back in Israel thought his body--his face was to die for, but surely they would turn their backs as their shallow gazes ran across the gnarled skin.  
  
*And there's plenty of it--ugh! *  
  
"Nurse?" he said tiredly. He was pretty sure he had heard someone come in not too long ago. In fact, a few seconds after Shia had left. It couldn't have been the American. Frenchman--or whatever the hell he was. The footsteps were too light, and the annoying squelch of the kid's combat boots was nowhere to be heard. "Nurse, is that you?"  
  
He felt his odd lips pull into a smile, a shameless smile. "Is it time for my bath already?"  
  
"Pf." his ears twitched, the vocal character was female but no where near mature. "So not!"  
  
He lifted his head gently--  
  
*Cl--cl--click. *  
  
--Only to have something hard press into his crown, pushing harder as it forced his head back down onto the pillow awkwardly. His eyes batted open, and from the right he could see a shapely form of pink spill into his sight. what was left of it. A rather rounded head capped the form of pink like an Asian's, and from the blur filtered in the features: a button nose, luscious lips, and two deep green eyes dotting the face, enveloped by a puffy mane of auburn hair--  
  
He never felt so angry before, and all it took was the wench holding a gun--his gun--to his mangled crown. The very same wench who had given him this mess of a body in the first place, and to think that it all started with a grapple to his throat.  
  
"No--" she said sweetly, the kindly tone thick with venom. "Don't get up. You need your rest, especially after when I get done with you."  
  
He lay silent, unmoving--unflinching as he stared the wench, his own personal grim reaper, down like it was nothing. A man tired of constantly being executed, and he was no exception to the unwritten rule.  
  
"Why so silent?" she smirked. "Do you feel like Ron did when you had him just like this a month ago? It's not funny, is it?"  
  
He rolled his eyes while his hand shifted ever so slowly for the nurse's button. A grunt moved out through his lips as the wench jammed the muzzle harder into his forehead.  
  
"*Is it*" she grunted. His fingers angled for his hip, where he felt the little device sitting on his thigh. The pads could just brush against the plastic without the action being notice, the device mocking his advances with only little wiggles.  
  
"Who blew up that plane, Uzi?" her lips curled into a toothy sneer, and his teeth pressed together when she laid her hand atop one of the shards. A headache wrapped tightly around his brain, a splitting headache as the girl pulled at the metal as if she wanted to pry his skull in two. "Was it you by chance? Or maybe that goofy hitman of yours, eh? Do you think I should pay him a visit, by chance?"  
  
The wench pulled at the shard again, and he let out a long, throaty moan, arching his back. Her grip faltered and her leg moved back a step. In the mess, he managed to wrench the call button free of its nook. Out his mouth escaped another throaty moan, drowning out the click as he thumbed the switch.  
  
"I'm asking you again, Uzi!" the auburn wench growled menacingly. "Don't expect another. Who blew that plane sky high?"  
  
He shrugged. "I don't know what your talking about, Wench Possible!"  
  
The auburn glared at him, and he felt the muzzle press harder into his crown, only to be lifted from his face completely.  
  
"So we're playing fool-around, huh?" she smirked, and she touched the Jericho's muzzle to his chest, sliding it down his trunk. Her eyebrows kinked, and his teeth pressed together as the gun tapped the small shards that peppered his torso, hidden by thin layers of sheets.  
  
Soon enough, that sadistic smile played across her lips again as she poked the muzzle a little below his groin. "I'm not!" she said. "Now tell me what I want to know, or your children will definitely feel this one!"  
  
"Go ahead, shoot." He sighed. "No girl would want suck me off now. But I'll let you have a free sample, if you take the gun off me."  
  
There was a little clack of metal, just as he saw her finger work back the trigger a little bit. With the little claw hammer cocked all the way back, the trigger was at its most extreme stop.  
  
*Can't kick her off! Need a distraction! *  
  
Brazenly, he gave the switch another push, its click hidden in his bored yawn.  
  
"You're beginning to bore me, Possible." He said. "If you want to shoot me, then shoot me! Either way, I think Shia will have his fun with you."  
  
His ears twitched when he heard the doorknob rattle; the wench's eyes grew big and that smug, menacing look instantly dropped.  
  
"Mr. Drazen?" his distraction said in her native tongue. He could see that mature figure cast its shadow in the partition screen, walking for the passable corner. "Mr. Drazen, you called me?"  
  
Predictably the wench took her eyes off of him just as the scrub-dressed woman angled her leg around the corner, the pistol (thankfully) lifted from his loins.  
  
"Drazen, who brought you these weapons?" the mature eyes of the distraction locked with the swivel chair, lifting from it and her neck twisted the dark head towards him. The distraction's eyes grew as she caught site of the wench with the pistol in hand. "Oh my--!"  
  
The time to act couldn't have come sooner. 


	7. Chapter 7

7  
  
Kim lost her breath suddenly, all of it escaping out of her body on its own as she felt something solid--*really* solid smash into her side. Her body felt like gelatin, crumpling to the ground while something slapped this pistol away, her head slamming against the painted drywall. The swivel chair let out a racket as her body inadvertently toppled it over; her ears catching an erratic clatter of many an object on the floor as she saw the curved knife fly aimlessly towards the bed.  
  
"HUH.!" she breathed quickly, and faintly she heard something tap onto the floor. On the cream tiled floor stood a pair of legs; one of flesh while the other was nothing more metal peg, with some kind of hinge for a knee. Seemingly in slow motion, her eyes trailed up the legs, stomach turning as they ran up those many heinous scars. Her heart beat in her ears as she saw those smug "eyes" of her target gazing coldly upon her-- waiting almost for the prime time to deal the deathblow.  
  
"What's wrong?" he asked, a smug grin played on his wrinkled lips. "Don't like what your hands created?"  
  
"Think of it--!" she coughed. ".As professional courtesy!"  
  
The boy let out an amused grunt. "In that case, let me extend to you the same civility."  
  
--Which seemed to be hidden deep within the violent anger as the twisted, mangled form fell upon her like a corpse. Quickly she kicked up her legs as the marked limbs scrambled wildly, feeling the fingers grazing her throat like a rabid dog. Her shoes kicked upon the boy, dancing flamenco on his chest as it were. The soles flattened evenly upon his mangled abs while she forced all her strength down to her legs.  
  
"EH. YAH!!" she grunted--and the target flew across the small room, the remnants of his limbs jutting helplessly towards her like a rag doll. The scarred mess flipped over backwards, letting out a loud *TING* as his metallic head met the guardrail. where that Nepalese blade sat ready on the wrinkled bedspread.  
  
Uzi disappeared below the mattress--  
  
--Only to pop back out with his hand scrambling for the blade. Her heart beat madly beneath her shirt as he lifted the blade up, chambering it in a severe arc. The piece of cloth around her chest pulsated to the mad beat of the organ even faster as the kid brought the arm down--and that piece of metal became nothing more than a black line as it flew through the air, its length increasing with every millisecond.  
  
She was going to die!  
  
***  
  
Uzi smirked as that wench cowered beneath her slender arms, her eyes clamped shut as he could feel the last centimeter of the blade's grip graze against the tip of his fingers. The blade let out a quick *BOING* as it cut deeply into the drywall, digging a bit into a piece the wench's pink pants.  
  
"Ah." he chuckled. "I'm right on target, as usual. And Vasili called himself crack-shot."  
  
Beneath the makeshift brim of her hands, the auburn opened her green eyes, batting them a little. Her head moved from side to side, from left to right in disbelief, as if there was any doubt to her continued existence. He did put on quite a show though, given her reaction.  
  
"Mr. Drazen!" the nurse said firmly in her native Czech. "What is going on here?"  
  
"I'm sorry, my dear." He replied in the language, limping around the corner of the bed with a *TINK* from his temporary prosthetic at a time, as if nothing had happened at all. The "knee" of the pole let out a squeak as it buckled. Taking a knee, he collected the weapons the wench had crudely spilled onto the floor. "But given comprised attention of my presence, I have to take my leave."  
  
"But. what about your bills?" the woman asked nervously as he swung the slings of his UZI guns over his bare shoulder.  
  
"Put it on my tab." He smirked. He always wanted to say that. Something moved close by, and his eyes caught the auburn stretched out upon the tiled floor, pinned by her pant leg. Her arm reached for the Jericho a mere inch away from her longest finger, a futile attempt for a last ditch effort if he ever saw one.  
  
"Ah-ah-ah!" his voice quickly switched to his accented English as he leaned on the wall for support. He easily concentrated all 145 pounds of his body upon her wrist at the bottom of his peg. From out the wench came a painful sound, like a winding grunt, and her fingers folded gently, lifting upwards at their bases like the legs of dying spider. "That's my gun now."  
  
He easily scooped it up, wedging it underneath his arm alongside his primary pistol. He lifted his ill-fitted leg, and the girl quickly folded into herself on her side, her other hand snatching onto the throbbing wrist. He thought he could see something red trickle from the limb, but he couldn't be sure.  
  
"Did that hurt?" he said in mockery. "Good!"  
  
"D. --Don't think you're getting away with this!" the girl cocked her head back, her emerald eye beaming the pain. "Murderer!"  
  
"Whatever you think, wench." He sighed--and the wench's crown was touching her knees when he brought down his peg upon her head like an axe kick. She let out a loud grunt as he simply stepped over her form, rounding the partition and limping for the door. "Shalom!"  
  
He brushed passed the door quickly, making a slow left as he limped for the next junction, to where the elevators sat for roof access if he remembered right.  
  
"Just hope Shia didn't leave yet!" he grunted.  
  
***  
  
Ron watched helplessly from the bushes as the men in olive drab stumbled out of their Hummer right in front of them. Something stuck him as the last grunt filed out of the transport while the other five headed for hospital door. On the backs of them were printed Hebrew characters, emblazoned in red like the Hebrew he saw painted on the Osprey back in the Senor Senior villa.  
  
"I don't believe this, Rufus!" he said quietly in the brush, leaning casually on a trunk of some kind. "I step out to pee for a minute, and I find these guys pulling up to the curb!"  
  
"Uh." the mole rat said quietly. He trailed down his body onto his cargo pants; the rat poked his head out of the "burrow", the flap of the pocket draping over his hairless head while he pointed. "No parking!"  
  
His lifted his head back onto his shoulders, and he turned slowly so not to attract a whole lot of attention. His indifferent gaze met the post of a sign no more than a few feet away from the car, trailing up the holed surface till they reached a red painted sign. He didn't know a thing about the Czech language, but the color red was universal. or had to be.  
  
"Oh right.!" he nodded sheepishly. "But whether or not they're parked illegally, Kim's not going to like this a bit."  
  
"Uh-huh." The rat nodded. "Hmm--yeah!"  
  
"But how our we going to get out of here with those guys? Their ride's faster than this POS--!" He blinked as he caught sight of the grunt's Hummer parked right in front of the Skoda, its owners letting the big engine purr carelessly on its own with no one tending to the driver's seat. His palm met the top of his brow rather hard.  
  
"Rufus," He smirked, looking down upon his son with a wicked grin on his face, "do you still wonder what it's like to drive a Hummer?"  
  
"Um-hmm--um-hmm!" the mole rat nodded fiercely with anticipation. "Yeah!"  
  
"Boo-yah!" he pumped his fist in the air. "The Ron-Factor strikes again!"  
  
***  
  
"Come on!" Kim grunted as she locked her fingers around the kukri's tiny grip again. "Come on!"  
  
Her muscles bulged from underneath her skin, flexing as she tried to work the curved blade free, regardless of how much her wrist rebelled against her wishes. After a minute of trying, she could feel the blade wiggle a bit more freely through the steel, but it wasn't enough. Her fingers laced together around the tiny grip, easing the blade back and forth, up and down in the little niche of its owner's making. The motions came easier with each period, moving like an over-greased pendulum--  
  
--*Shing! *--  
  
--"Got it!"--  
  
--Until she worked the blade free of the wall. The blade made a passing clatter on the tile as she released it from her grasp, the wrist swinging for mouth blindly and it pressed through her lips. Her tongue swathed over the back gently, tasting a few drops of her blood as the muscle bathed it with her saliva, relieving it of a little pain for a while.  
  
She removed it from her mouth, her eyes cringing as they ran across the circle than dented her skin. A few pieces of skin were broken, drips of red oozing out them in its own time.  
  
"Ugh.!" she gave the wrist a few rubs with her free hand.  
  
She lifted up her leg naturally, grabbing the limb by the ankle and she swung it out as far as her tendons and ligaments would let her. There was a gash in her pants, about an inch long and a half a centimeter wide at the bottom of the leg where the cuffs flared out.  
  
"Aw man!" she shook her head. "These were brand new Club Banana! Damn Uzi!"  
  
From the floor, she scooped up the blade and clenched it tightly by the grip. Something else caught her by her eyes, laying flat on the tile floor like someone had dropped it on mistake. Her fingers had barely grazed at the blue object as she slid it over to her side. She took it into her hand, her eyes rolling as it was nothing more than an everyday ZIP disk that someone must have dropped--  
  
*Lost-and-found later! * Her mind exclaimed. *Get the target! *  
  
Everything in the tiny room brushed past her as her fingers jerked the disk into her pocket, speeding out the door just to come to a halt as she whipped her head around the hand-railed corridor. Doctors and nurses in the hallway scrambled, stopping for a moment only to take off as their eyes locked with what was in her tight grip.  
  
--Something to her left let out a noisy clang, and she looked to find a small tray of turned on its side, its contents of medical supplies spilled onto the floor. Draping atop of the tray was a woman--probably a nurse--dressed in scrubs, holding her hand on top of her shaking head.  
  
She raced quickly for the woman before she caught a hold of her senses, stuffing the kukri blade carefully between her pants and her belt like a sheath. She took a knee beside the woman as she laid her crowning hand onto the floor.  
  
"Excuse me." She calmed herself enough so that her normal voice spoke through. The woman pushed away from the floor, hitting her back to the wall awkwardly as if someone had grabbed her and thrown her.  
  
"Please--!" the woman cried in accented English. "Do not hurt me!"  
  
"You speak English?" she blinked.  
  
"Yes!" the woman nodded. "Do not hurt me! I did not do anything!"  
  
"I never said you did." She smiled weakly. "But I need your help. Did you see anyone run through here recently?"  
  
"I did!" The woman was on the verge of hysteria. "He was naked and armed! He was running for the. oh--what's the word?"  
  
"Elevator?" she said.  
  
"Yes--elevator!" the woman bobbed her head quickly. "There is a military helicopter on the roof!"  
  
"I know." She nodded. "I saw it outside. But I need you to tell me where this elevator is."  
  
"Down the hall, and to your right!" the woman cried. "Please! Let me go!"  
  
She didn't need to hear anymore as she sprinted off for the junction. As she approached the T-junction, she spun around in mid-stride, running backward the second her shoes touched the ground.  
  
"Thanks!" she called, and she spun back around in time before she got a face full of wall. The elevator nook was closer than what she had expected, no more than a couple of yards ahead of her and closing. Her shoes let out a screech as she came to a halt in front of it, dashing for the open sliding doors, as they were about to close. Spinning quickly on her heels, her fingers stabbed at the button marked PH.  
  
The doors touched each other when they closed. Moving parts above her shifted quickly. and she felt a few pounds heavier as the assent began. Her heavy stomach twisted as she thought about what--no--*who* waited for her at the top of the shaft. Uzi Drazen, a man that death could not lay its bony fingers upon. And if the Grim Reaper couldn't reel him in.  
  
*Then how can I? *  
  
Her guts settled back into their original place as the mechanical humming of the lift ceased. The bell overhead let out a faint ding, and the ferocious winds brushed against her face as the doors slid open, all at the sound of like a giant propeller's buzz. Her arms shielded her face as she stepped out onto the roof; the annoying buzz was deafening while the winds threw her hair in wild directions like she was in the middle of a windstorm.  
  
*Helicopter on the roof.! * Her mind could only whisper in the droning roar.  
  
"The roof!" her arms parted from her face, and her eyes could see the large Apache ready for take off, rotor gaining increasing air speed. At the cockpit, that naked target clawed his way up into a seat, trying to work that pole of a leg in through the closing canopy.  
  
"UZI!" she screamed madly into the raging rotor-wash, taking the grip of the knife into her palm, she unsheathed it with an anger of a Viking berserker.  
  
The kid managed to work his limb into the cockpit, as the canopy was about to synch shut. Through her drying eyes and through the dark glass, she could see that smug look play across his gnarled lips again.  
  
"Ah. Wench Possible!" he shook his head, his indifferent voice blaring over a loudspeaker. "I'm afraid I cannot let you go any further."  
  
"FURTHER THIS--CREEP!" she chucked the knife with all her might, watching it spin in defiance of the copter's whooshing rotors. There was a fleeting *TING* as it stuck proudly out of the chopper's nose, right next to where the canopy met the body. The canopy went ajar; lifting only so much that the kid could work his hand through and grab the knife. Her mouth dropped when the target yanked it off the nose like it was nothing, like Arthur to Excalibur.  
  
"Thanks for the knife!" he grinned as the canopy closed again. She could just barely see the second person in the back fiddle with his helmet, particularly with that. tubular monocle thingy on his face. "But what on earth are you going to do now, Wench? Take on a Longbow with your bare hands? NOW YOU'RE MINE!!"  
  
She bent at the knees, spacing her feet wide apart as if to move quickly. After the target spat his last words, her hair began to drop down onto her back as the copter went airborne a few feet, higher than what she could jump. Her spinning mind went blank as she saw that turret move on its swivel, jerking erratically side to side as if it tried to get a lock on something--  
  
*Like me. *  
  
"Move!"--  
  
The heliport seemed to explode around her--and she couldn't move. Hundreds of cement fountains shot up high into the air, the many chunks mixing with each other as they rained down upon her at the sound of thunderous gunfire. Her arms went for her face as a few thousand pebbles threatened her eyes--  
  
*WA--ZING! *  
  
Something crashed by her foot, something heavy that caused the crumbling heliport to shake to its very foundations. Pebbles smashed harmlessly against her leg and onto her foot, but she managed to somehow force her body to move away. Her cement shoes crumbled as she made a mad dash for the elevator door, her arm taking the lead and her finger stabbing at the call button. Her safety greeted her with doors wide open, and she threw herself inside headfirst.  
  
She flopped onto her back, kicking at the console blindly as her shoe dragged across the buttons. First floor, fourth floor, or heck--any button would do. The door slid closed easily, oblivious that heavy rounds crashed into the building--and welcome relief rushed through her body as she felt her guts push their way into her ribcage.  
  
*Safe. for now. * She breathed.  
  
***  
  
"Shia." Uzi moaned rather loudly, his ears barley catching the thick exasperation over the muffled thrum of the rotors. "Care to explain how that wench found me so easily?"  
  
"How the hell should I know, Mr. U?" the hitman's voice crackled through the earpiece. "I've been checking out my hotel's guest list since I've been here, and no one's checked in under the name Kim Possible. Though I did feel sorry for this one guy named Richard Head. I mean--come on! Who'd name their kid that--?"  
  
"Ugh--!" he rolled his eyes. "What does that have to do with anything?"  
  
"Sir!" Shia said. "She could be working for Hershel for all we know."  
  
"Yes, you're probably right." He nodded, and the corners of his lips dropped to a frown as he gazed at what his helicopter had created. Holes as big as softballs pockmarked the roof, shrinking to mere ping-pong balls as the turret trailed veered its fire from the middle of the roof to the elevator doors. He could only see that a couple of bullets had graced them with their presence. But nowhere on the undulated roof did his eye catch the wench's torn body, not even a smear of her crimson. "So the wench thought she had escaped. Pf--guess again!"  
  
"Orders, sir?" Shia asked.  
  
"Move the chopper around the building's perimeter," he said, "and sweep around the circumference of each floor. Engage the target as she appears. The wench must not leave the hospital under any circumstances."  
  
"Does that mean I get to shoot something, Sir?" the friend inquired with a rather jokily demeanor. He rolled his eyes. Shia asked him this every time.  
  
"If you must," he replied indifferently, "you must. Just keep the casualties to a minimum. Has the second team arrived?"  
  
"Yes sir." The friend replied. "They've just parked right in front of the building."  
  
"Good. Have them initiate a full sweep of the premises, floor-to-floor and room-to-room. Now do it!"  
  
"Sir!"  
  
***  
  
Ron timidly lifted his palms from off his ears; the full-blown headache pounding in his ears as if he'd listened to a 21-gun salute up close and personal. He didn't know what the hell was going on. He had sneaked into the Hummer, playing it sneaky as he took a seat behind the wheel. As he familiarized himself with the basic controls, levers and pedals and such, his ears caught the sound of air chopping, just barely over a faint, fleeting whine of machinery.  
  
He had climbed over to the passenger seat gracefully over the primitive console, and the steady chopping seemed to have magically obtained a voice, speaking an unintelligible, garbled tirade that fought for its place over the copter rotors. He poked his head outside the window like a gopher peeking outside its tunnel. The Apache on the white-capped roof had lifted off of the building, hovering seemingly atop the edge as it blurted out its incoherent rant--  
  
--*RATATATATATATATATATATAT*--  
  
--That ceased completely as a huge flume of swirling fire engulfed the tip of the Longbow. His hands capped his ears as the nearby populous ran for dear life screaming bloody murder, his head throbbing with a pain no more annoying that a headache. A lengthy glint of streaming brass fell out of the fireball, alongside dark bits and pieces metal like the remains of a shredded chain, flowing out of the copter like deer droppings till the fireball was thrown to the wind by the rotor-wash.  
  
"Ugh.!" he shook his head like a drunkard. "You okay, little buddy?"  
  
"Oh.!" the pink buddy stumbled around like a smashed frat boy, his paws pressed against his bald crown. "Ouch!"  
  
"Kim's in trouble, Rufus!" he shook his head fiercely, shaking sense back into himself. "I can feel it!"  
  
"Huh--!" the rat rolled its beady eyes. "Duh!"  
  
He blinked as he gazed at the dark, front doors of the hospital as they flung wide open. A huge, white mass of people spilled out of the building, many were like Halloween ghosts in their white coats and white gowns as they floated quickly into the street, dispersing in all directions. Many went for the hospital parking lot while the others ran wherever safety could be found.  
  
In the dispersing whiteout, his eyes caught a glimpse of a simple, pink heart, swaying wildly left and right, as it grew closer to his position. A few feet away from the Hummer, he could see the owner's body; her head capped with puffy auburn hair.  
  
"KIM!" he yelled into the confusion. "Over here!"  
  
The auburn was at the back corner of the vehicle, going for the domestic POS as her shoes stopped moving. The girl spun on heels, that puffy mass of red hair swinging to her backside. He thrust his arm out the window, his hand waving like a treetop in the breeze as the auburn nodded. She ran behind the vehicle, and Ron retook his place at the helm--  
  
--And he was pushed, quite literally--*tossed* back into the passenger's side. He shot the girl a dirty glare as she hopped into the driver's seat, the cabin rocking as she slammed the door. He glanced down at Rufus, his child laid flat upon the primitive console with his head underneath his pudgy arms, shivering pathetically.  
  
"KIM!" he yelled. "You nearly crushed Rufus!"  
  
"Sorry, Ron--!" she jumped at the engine's whirring whine as she turned the key, releasing it when her ears caught the screech. "But I'm driving!"  
  
"Pf--like that's anything new!" he folded his arms in a huff.  
  
Kim took at deep breath after she jerked the shifter into gear, the car jerking a bit the second it was free of the parking brake. Her gaze went blank; her eyes locked onto a corner of the windshield as her hands wringed the wheel like a motorbike's throttle. There was a small *CREAK* before the car lurched forward, and her eyes darted at him quickly, her emerald gaze so grave and serious he felt his heart stop.  
  
"Buckle up." She said calmly, ironically--  
  
--And he barely heard her stomp on the gas over the engine's roar, his head pressed against the seat as the boring sights of the "R" street rolled--no--*smeared* past his window.  
  
"KIM!!" he and his buddy screamed together.  
  
"I said buckle up!" she yelled.  
  
***  
  
Uzi couldn't get it out of his mind as the Apache carefully rounded the corner, swinging the craft parallel to Roentgenova 2 as its gun traced upon the dark windows. His good eye caught the glimpse of a vehicle, a hummer screeching its tires in a soft plume of smoke before it tore down the street. Emblazoned on its side in red were the characters of his outfit.  
  
"Shia." He said curiously, putting a nicked finger to his undulated chin. "Where did you say the second team was again?"  
  
"Uh." the friend droned monotonously, like a character in that perverted American cartoon that went off the air sometime ago. "They should be in the hospital like you ordered, sir."  
  
"Hmm." he picked up the transmitter from the control panel, his gnarled fingers punching in the button as he moved the device closer to his lips. "Bravo team, what's your status?"  
  
He lifted the finger off of the button like he would with the trigger of his pistol, his ears listening intently to the static of his radio. It was a feature he had installed previously, just incase he had problems with the earpieces or the helmets.  
  
He depressed the button again. "Bravo team, what is your status? Bravo team, Respond!"  
  
"Major Uzi!" a voice crackled through the static on his radio. "We're currently on the second floor, initiating a full sweep of the floor before we move on."  
  
"Is there anyone inside your vehicle?" he replied.  
  
"No sir." The voice replied. "Everyone is present and accounted for."  
  
"Then." he depressed the button, and then it clicked as he relinquished his finger from it. A rage swept through him, burning in him as his mind could only come up with only one possibility. "Aw...! DAMN IT!!" His finger stabbed at the button again. "Bravo team! Get out of there!! Procure a vehicle and get your transport back!"  
  
He tossed the transmitter at the console like a child in a raging fit. "Shia! Tail that vehicle, and stop it by any means necessary! I WANT THAT WENCH DEAD!!"  
  
"Rodger!" the kid replied. and he felt his gut move strangely within his body, twisting up and down like gymnast as the friend moved the copter properly around. The world outside is angular canopy spun wildly on a broken axis. "And remind me to get some scopolamine hydrobromide."  
  
Shia laughed. "Ha--! Yes sir."  
  
***  
  
"Easy there, T." Yune lifted up his hand as the blonde touched her foot back down on the carpet. While Kim and Ron were away, doing their thing, he decided it was a good idea for the girl to practice and refine her roundhouse kicks. And did she need it, considering how the lamp nearly split in two from an unpracticed strike. "Remember, you're trying to connect with your target, not everything else in the environment."  
  
"Oh--come on now!" her limbs went limp, dropping to her sides while her head dropped back. "I'm doing my best."  
  
"That may be," he shook his head, "but you don't want your toes broken in the process. Believe me, I found that out the hard way!"  
  
"What's wrong now?" her limp head rocked side to side.  
  
"Training in the martial arts isn't easy, T." he shrugged. "*Dojang* training is a lot harder than what I'm trying to teach you."  
  
She lifted her head back up, a kink on her thin eyebrow as she leveled her skull. "Dojang?"  
  
"Hmm--*Dojo* if that helps." He said. "Trust me that an hour in one of those places can seem like an eternity. And the masters in that place aren't as polite as I am, and they'll bitch at you about everything you do wrong."  
  
"So what the hell's wrong with my kick?" her blue eyes rolled in her head.  
  
"Pick up your leg, like you want to strike me." He said. "And extend it out slowly at half speed."  
  
Like an apt pupil she lifted up her leg rather quickly, extending her whole leg out in front of her in a primitive roundhouse kick. Her toes were curled and pressed tightly together, a typical sign of a newcomer to the arts. He strolled over to the shapely limb, a little less than an arm's reach away from her foot.  
  
"Problem one:" he simply took her foot into his grasp, fingers squeezing gently against her soft arch, "your foot needs to be bent at the ankle, like your standing on the ground. And two:" he slid his fingers up to the ball of her foot, taking her toes between his thumb and finger, flexing them up to a natural angle, "keep your toes up. You'd want to strike your opponent with the ball of your foot."  
  
"Hmm--yes, Sensei." She giggled, and his eyes rolled.  
  
"Pf." he shook his head. "You're too girly for combat."  
  
Something tapped onto the side of his knee, rather hardly like someone struck him with a wimpy kick.  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" the girl glared at him, her hands resting on her round hips by the back of her wrists.  
  
"It means what it means, T." he chuckled--and felt her foot crash lightly into his knee again. "Hey! Patient abuse!"  
  
"Oh--you're going to feel abused when I get done with you!" she smirked.  
  
"Oh--" he waved his hand at her teasingly, "scary woman!"  
  
From somewhere in the room a rather noisy tune played out, fairly reminiscent of something like one of Mozart's works. It had a whiny and shrill character to it, like it had been digitized without a care in the world from its programmer--  
  
"Phone.!" the girl moaned like a pompous master to her servant. He felt his eyes roll again.  
  
"Oh please!" he shook his head as he went for his bag. "Don't move! Don't hassle yourself! Let me, your ever faithful servant, get the accursed phone."  
  
"Now that's more like it." She grinned. "It's so hard to find good help these days, right Jives?"  
  
"But of course, m'lady." The small travel bag continued to bleat that poorly digitized tune as he dug his good hand into the sack. His fingers ran across the many textures of his shirts and pants, feeling the individual fibers brush the tips. He grasped the Nokia when a nail tapped against its plastic shell, pulling it out. He thumbed the blue-lined button.  
  
"Hello?" he said.  
  
"Yune?" that familiar, boyish voice blared into his ears. He really had to turn down the phone's volume sometime.  
  
"Indeed, it is." He nodded. "So what calls for Kim's genius Webmaster to phone me?"  
  
"It's just that, Bin-Mok." The boy said. "Kim would call you herself, except she's occupied at the moment."  
  
"What's wrong?" he asked.  
  
"Yune." he felt his blood ran cold, just at the tone of voice, "Uzi's alive."  
  
His eyes nearly popped out from their sockets. "What??" he blinked. "That can't be!"  
  
"It can be." The boy replied. "The guy's up and kicking. Well. most of him anyway. He's with that Bonnet person right now, giving Kim and Ron a run for their lives as we speak!"  
  
"Well--what am I supposed to do?" he exclaimed. "Sit and pray with my thumbs up my ass!"  
  
The Webmaster let out a revolted groan, exclaiming it over the receiver. "OH--I did NOT need to picture that!"  
  
"Focus, Wade!" he frowned.  
  
"I'm perfectly focused!" the kid replied. "Focused on that nasty mental picture you gave me!"  
  
"Wade.!" he said in a slow, angered drawl. The volume was a crescendo.  
  
"Kim wanted me to tell you to get your stuff together and get ready to leave." The boy replied. "She'll meet you right outside the hotel as soon as she loses the tail."  
  
Faintly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the blonde switch on the television. Her wavy hair bounced, patting onto the back of the couch as she took a seat. He wasn't sure, but he could have sworn he heard the girl gasp quite audibly over the Webmaster's voice.  
  
"Wait a minute!" he exclaimed. "She's being followed?"  
  
"You bet!" the boy affirmed. "You're going to have to see this one to believe it."  
  
"I don't think I'd want to know." He shook his head.  
  
"Ignorance is bliss, right?" the boy asked.  
  
"In spades!" he nodded.  
  
"Right." The boy said. "I'm going to let you go now. Just hurry up and check out of the hotel. As of now, you guys are officially leaving the Czech Republic."  
  
"How?"  
  
"Don't worry about it." The boy replied. "Hershel's on it. Just get packing!"  
  
"Right!" he thumbed the blue-lined button, feeling that little click beneath his digit before the phone dropped back into the bag. He turned toward the girl, who was preoccupied with the television at the moment. What she was watching, he couldn't be sure, but it looked like a desert- camouflaged attack helicopter was chasing a car down some olden, cobblestone street.  
  
"Tara." He said loudly over the Czech narrative of the TV.  
  
"Yes honey?" she called.  
  
"Are you packed, in the sense that you can leave on the spot?" he asked quickly.  
  
She lifted her slender arm into the air, waving it halfheartedly. "Yeah." She called. "Everything's in there except my pajamas."  
  
"Well get them packed and get your shoes on." The zipper's whine was a staccato, his good fingers jerking the fastener across the length of the bag. He only had one the travel bag to worry about, since he always traveled light. "Were leaving the country today."  
  
"Aw." the blonde moaned girly. "But I wanted to take a boat ride down the Moldau with you."  
  
"Hate to burst you romantic bubble, sweetie," the zipper was silenced as it reached the end of its line, "but we can't stay any longer. But I'll make it up to you when I can."  
  
The blonde rolled onto her belly on the couch, resting her chin atop of her folded arms. Across her lips, she wore an eager, wide smile.  
  
"You mean it?" she grinned.  
  
"I promise it, Tara." He nodded. He couldn't help but return the gesture with a warm smile. "Now get your things packed."  
  
She pushed herself off of the couch. "Yes sir!" she laughed. 


	8. Chapter 8

8  
  
Uzi was amused.  
  
Below his loud, shifting perch floating atop the old cityscape raced the wench in his men's stolen Hummer, desperately trying to outrun his Apache and his men giving chase. He laughed--actually laughed as his men followed the Hummer turn for turn, speed for speed down the many twisted cobblestone streets in a mere Skoda Estelle. From out the tiny windows, Bravo team opened fire upon the target. The bullets smashing into the vehicle looked nothing more than flickers in the thick canopy.  
  
"Trying to outrun us." He thought aloud, nearly chuckling it out. "What is she thinking?"  
  
"Hmm." the pilot behind him replied. "Either she thinks she's in the world of 'Grand Theft Auto', or a version of 'Burnout' chocked up on steroids."  
  
"Does it really matter in the end?" he asked rhetorically. "The wench is good as dead! I mean--do you see how the guys down there are sticking it to her? It's an act of God that the Hummer hasn't blown sky high yet."  
  
"'Yet' is the keyword in that sentence, sir." The hitman noted.  
  
"Pf--it'd better be!" he chuckled passively.  
  
The Skoda had barely made it through that sharp turn to the left that the wench had taken. A tiny plume of fire engulfed a window and the olive form responsible as the two airborne wheels touched down upon the stone. On the cobbled sidewalks, the many dots that were people scattered like wild buckshot.  
  
"Sir!" Shia exclaimed rather hesitantly. "Don't you think that the men are engaging the target rather excessively?"  
  
"Just like I told them." His lips pulled into a guilty, toothy grin. "So?"  
  
"This has international incident pockmarked all over It." the pilot sighed.  
  
"Interesting choice of words there, Shia." He chuckled softly.  
  
"Uh. thanks?"  
  
***  
  
*RATATATAT--TATAT--TATATATAT!! * Roared voices of the gun--guns, how many there really were--over the manic-depressive growl of the Hummer. Large pieces of the streets were dust, particles the size of golf balls and pebbles, sweeping into the windshield with an erratic barrage as the vehicle tore through the plumes.  
  
Kim had tried almost everything in her evasive maneuvers, everything that the boys over at STS had taught her proved to be nothing more than useless facts as the olive drabbed men matched her move for move. They one- upped her for every move she made, showing off their seemingly endless firepower upon the vehicle, so much that a bullet nearly nicked her in the leg as it smashed through the cabin.  
  
A stream of white plumes bellowed from out the hood like train smoke. She wasn't sure how much more the Hummer could take.  
  
She stole a hurried glance at Ron. He sat in the passenger side pathetically, his wide eyes brimmed with tears and all is front teeth bared as if he was about to cry.  
  
"RON!" she yelled. Her eyes narrowed as a T-junction closed in on her. "SNAP OUT OF IT!"  
  
"W--WELL WHAT DO YOU EXPECT ME TO DO--!" she could just barely see his body flop against his door in a heap as she made the turn. People flocked away from the piece of sidewalk, scattering at the sound of screeching tires. "FEND THEM OFF!?"  
  
"YES!!" she yelled. "THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT I WANT!"  
  
"WITH WHAT!?" the boy slapped his hands against the dashboard, arms locking at the elbow.  
  
"I don't know!" her eyes quickly rolled. "Find something! Throw tire irons, shake stuff loose, toss Rufus--!"  
  
"HEY!!" the "father" and the "son" cried in protest.  
  
"Okay--don't throw the rodent!" she pressed her teeth together. "Just find something!"  
  
"Ugh--right!" the boy shuffled in his seat, lengthening his form as he worked over the console. Through the sensory overload, she could just barely feel the cloth of his cargos scratch against her skin.  
  
"RON!" she yelled. "Hurry up!"  
  
"I think I found something KP--!" his tense voice died in another barrage of flying lead. The nearby pedestrians turned tail and ran for dear life, their panicked screaming a quick decrescendo as the gunfire silenced.  
  
"What?" she called.  
  
"Some kind of gun!" he said. "I think it might be an rocket of some kind."  
  
"SO FRIGGING USE IT ALREADY!!" she screamed.  
  
"Ugh!" the boy moaned. "Yes mommy!"  
  
***  
  
Things have taken a turn for the worse for him--his men really. He wasn't sure what had happened. After gloating over his absolute victory of the day, a huge fireball engulfed the pursuers, the plumes of fire and smoke blossoming over the streets of Prague. The plumes had grown into a small mushroom as the target sped away, the vehicle scathed and its driver not.  
  
Out the window of the vehicle, he could see a target. Blond hair capped the head while in its arms smoked some kind of lengthy tube with a chubby muzzle.  
  
"Don't tell me the dumb-asses left the Javelin in the car." He frowned.  
  
"Okay." Shia agreed to the rhetorical statement. "I won't tell you, sir."  
  
He rolled his eyes as his good hand went for the CB. His finger went for the button even before the microphone touched his lips.  
  
"Bravo team, respond!" he groaned. "Do you read me, Bravo team?"  
  
"Oh--UGH!" crackled out a masculine voice, the tone stressed *painfully*.  
  
"Bravo team, respond." He said flatly.  
  
"Uh--men. down!" the voice groaned. "I don't think the others.UH-- made it!"  
  
He recognized the voice, addressing the man by his handle. "Victimized.?" he asked slowly.  
  
There was no reply. His mangled ears could only catch a quick, irregular gasp, followed by a soft, voiceless sigh like the final breath. The microphone clattered upon the panel when he tossed it aside.  
  
*Want something done right, do it yourself! *  
  
"Lower altitude." He said flatly.  
  
"What sir?" the pilot asked.  
  
"I said lower altitude, Shia!" he barked. "Tail the wench! Do NOT let her escape! Use any means necessary!"  
  
"Sir, I must--!"  
  
"Must *WHAT*, Shia?" he growled. "Take her down by any means necessary! Got it?"  
  
".Yes sir!" the boy obeyed, and he felt his gut move up his body as the 'copter began its descent. Shia, that boy was a mystery--an enigma to him. For a button man of his reputation and skill, the possibility of a soft spot was unthinkable. and dangerous, considering his profession.  
  
"Remind me to fossilize your heart when we RTB." He said.  
  
".Huh?" the boy said.  
  
"Forget it."  
  
***  
  
The Apache was a stalker, tailing her--its prey with the tenacity like that of the very people who shared the name. No matter how many sharp turns she took, and the near misses the marked vehicle had escaped, she couldn't escape from the ominous drone of the 'copter's rotors or the roars of its hawk-like turret.  
  
"Kim!" the blond yelled. "Can you floor it please!? If you didn't know. WE HAVE A CHOPPER ON OUR TAIL!"  
  
She frowned. "Tell me something I don't know!"  
  
"WELL--DO SOMETHING!" he yelled. It took everything she had not to slap him silly.  
  
"LIKE WHAT!?" she yelled back. "ASK THEM NICELY!?"  
  
"YOU'RE THE TEEN HERO!" on the dashboard, Ron's fingers clawed at it like a petrified kitten. The surface of the dashboard underhand was pale, circling the circumference of his strained fingers. "YOU TELL ME--!!"  
  
The deafening rip of the machine gun assaulted her ears and she felt her bottom lift up from the seat, hovering over it briefly as the cabin jerked to the right at a gentle angle considering. Her shoes slammed the brake down, her flittering hands twisting the wheel right for a last minute turn. Tires screeched, and she could just make out the exploding-- *exploding* texture of the wall before the wheels caught a grip on the cobblestone. She couldn't feel the accelerator underfoot as she slammed it back down.  
  
"WAS THAT IT!?" the blond yelled frantically as he was pushed back into the seat.  
  
"SHUT UP, RON!" she shouted back. "I KNOW WHAT I'M DOING!"  
  
The passenger whipped his head around out of the corner of her busy eyes. He seemed to have somewhat of a panicked-yet-quizzical expression upon his freckled face. It was typical of him, nothing more.  
  
"NOT EVEN GOD KNOWS WHAT YOU'RE DOING!!" he shouted.  
  
"UH-HUH!" the mole rat squeaked out from his pocket burrow. Through the intensity of the war-zone outside the windows, her eyes managed to take a lap around her sockets possibly for the last time--  
  
"KIM!!" they both screamed. Her eyes snapped back into place, dead center in her head as they focused onto the rather large pile of crates right in front of her--  
  
*OH-NO! *  
  
Her feet scrambled for the brake--and her ears caught a crunching sound, piercing and loud, and she felt the Hummer tip onto the right two wheels as the crunching boxes grazed the undercarriage. Glass shattered as the vehicle smashed onto the cobbled street. The whole car was moaning in pain as its metal crumpled and buckled; the world upturning as the top graced the street and everything outside spun wildly like a top.  
  
The stones of the street cried out in strange sounds, as if something tore into the street and pulled them out in a hurry--  
  
"Uzi.!" she groaned as she forced her breakfast back up her overturned throat.  
  
The car seemed to vibrate unevenly around her while the heavy rounds smashed into it from above. The car seemed to slow its revolutions as it skid uncontrollably down the street. Through the broken and buckled windshield, her heart nearly jumped out of her chest as she saw her mechanical predator hovering overhead, exhaling a stream of fire like a dragon as the rounds continued to pound around them like hail.  
  
"KIM!" cried the father and son duo beside her.  
  
"Hold on!" she shouted.  
  
***  
  
Uzi laughed. He had the wench right where he wanted her, helpless like a fish in a barrel that he didn't hesitate to shoot. The street was like a ghost town's. Czechs below him had scattered like ants a few minutes ago, ducking into their network of alleyways for cover as he brazenly executed his rightful vengeance. It wouldn't be too long before the military heeded the panicked call of the police force, but he had to be certain that the wench was put in her rightful place.  
  
"A patch of dirt: six feet long, three feet wide, and six feet deep." He thought aloud, nodding at himself.  
  
"Sir?" the hitman asked from behind. "Did you say something?"  
  
"Forget it, Shia." He shook his head. "Arm the Hellfire missiles."  
  
"On a crowded street, Sir?" the kid said quizzically.  
  
"Look below you, Bonnet." He chuckled. "See anyone?"  
  
"Uh." the kid moaned like that cartoon character, "no sir."  
  
"Then I don't see a problem, do you?" he smirked.  
  
"No sir." The pilot replied. "I do not. Prepping the missiles now, Mr. U."  
  
"Ha--That's a good soldier!" he laughed.  
  
***  
  
Kim drew her the back of her hand across her brow, the beaded sweat drops smeared across unevenly as she took in a deep breath. The car had skidded to a stop; the (probably) twisted and bent grill of the Hummer simply touched the wall at the end of the street. If the upturned vehicle approached the seemingly dead-end any faster, or if the maniac hadn't ceased his assault.. Well--she didn't want to think about it period.  
  
"Oh." her eyes winched beneath her closed lids. Pain was a red crack in her head, splitting it in half as the headache started up. "Ron.?"  
  
"Yeah?" the boy said quietly, ironically almost as if nothing had happened at all.  
  
"Uh. you dead?" she sniffed.  
  
"Ugh!" the blond groaned. "Nope, the Ron Factor isn't a non-factor yet."  
  
"I hear that!" light was an ellipse as she opened her eyes, thin at first but color swirled into her sight all too quickly, which aggravated the splitting crack in her head further. Her weary eyes couldn't see anything but an ancient wall through the twisted windshield.  
  
"Come on, Ron--" Her neck felt stiff as the fingered the belt buckle of her restraints, quickly loosening out as her whole body fumbled out of the driver's seat. "Ugh--! We need to. aw--get out of here!"  
  
"Too true!" he coughed.  
  
She carefully worked her body onto her back, the metal beneath her letting out somewhat of a *THUD* and a *CLANG* as she flattened out. The soles of her shoes pressed against the warped door, and she drew her knees up to her chest. The door clanged and dented as she thrust her feet against it, only to draw her knees back up and releasing them at the door feet first again. and again. and again till the useless portal fell open. It clattered onto the street like a trashcan lid.  
  
Her back arced, pushing her body into a wimpy arch as she crawled out of the useless vehicle like a crab. Her bottom touched down onto the cool, slick street just as her brow cleared the low ground clearance.  
  
"Can you move, Ron?" she shook her head quickly.  
  
"Yeah!" the boy called from the vehicle. "If I can only. just-- WHOA!"  
  
She turned her head over her shoulder, and she saw a rather large mass topple onto the upturned ceiling like a sack of potatoes. She let out a quick giggle as the boy moaned pitifully.  
  
"OH--my head!" the boy groaned.  
  
"Uh. ouch!" his rodent companion added.  
  
"Come on guys!" she moved her hands toward her bottom, and she forced herself up a few inches--  
  
"Peek-a-boo!" that callous, taunting voice of Uzi--her predator-- boomed over the Apache's chopping clearly, like it would be the final words she'd ever hear. "I SEE YOU!"  
  
She sprang to her feet quickly. Her eyes zipped back to the twisted cabin, and Ron had managed to almost work himself free of the vehicle in no time at all. But it wasn't fast enough. The Apache wasn't going to let them go free--not yet--not until it gave them a final present on it pilots' behalf.  
  
"GO TO HELL, UZI!" she screamed into the raging winds that tore into her face, staring into the cold, plastic eyes of her predator.  
  
"Sorry!" the predator chuckled. "But Hell has no vacancies at the moment, and I'd like to see my 18th birthday before I hit the deathbed."  
  
She took another glance at the blond. His teeth were clenched together, and he grunted rhythmically as he desperately tried to wrench a leg free; the mole rat aided him as it gnawed viciously on the cuff of the stubborn leg.  
  
"But while we're on the subject," the metal-head continued casually, as if he was chatting with her over teacakes. Reminded her of the punk's father, it did, "I believe that yours is on. what was it--? Oh--March 20, I believe. I'm sorry that I couldn't make the last one, but here's a little present from me. I hope that you find it most. volatile!"  
  
She cocked an eyebrow, her thoughts in a brief puzzlement before they drew across the 'copter's weapon bays. and its many missile lugs underneath its tiny wings.  
  
*Hellfire! *  
  
Her hands clenched around Ron's shirt, caring nothing if the boy had worked himself completely free or not. Her fingers curled into her palms tightly through the shirt, and out her lips grunted a stifled groan as she hoisted the boy up onto his stumbling feet. She felt something tug on her pants, starting at her flaring cuffs and it shuffled up her legs.  
  
"Kim!" the boy whined. "My shoes' are untied--!"  
  
"Shut up and move!" she barked, and the dead weight beside her dragged his feet as she went for the narrow alley a few feet away. "Come on--hurry up--!"  
  
A cold chill ran down her spine as that mocking, taunting voice of her chaser bombarded her ears.  
  
"HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY, KIMMIE!" he roared, and slowly she looked over her shoulder as she ran. Something dropped from a wing; her eyes trailed down the string like thing that unraveled from it like fishing wire.  
  
"It's your birthday, Kim?" the dead weight beside her asked. "Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
She rolled her eyes ironically. "Oh. boy!"  
  
--*KA--BLAM! *  
  
She felt like she was flying, gracelessly like an ostrich as she saw the cobblestone pass underneath her smoothly. For a moment, the stones looked so small before they grew so big that she could make out the texture on them, both in her eyes and on her skin as the boisterous explosion died away in the still, city air.  
  
She lay there, still as the stones beneath her, easing her breath to unnoticeable movements. Her muscles ached, her face burned with pain but she couldn't move. She wouldn't move lest the punk dared to finish her in a hail of gunfire.  
  
"Ron." She whispered quietly. "Don't. move!"  
  
"Gotcha KP." The boy nodded.  
  
"Ron!" her voice was hoarse, but still quiet.  
  
"Oh--right!" the blond replied. "Sorry!"  
  
***  
  
Uzi wasn't impressed by the wench's last-ditch effort to throw him off. Who was she trying to kid? He was Uzi Drazen, the son of the feared Col. Alexander Drazen who served both hero and villain alike. And if his father could see through such disgraceful ploys, then so can he.  
  
"Shia." He said. "Do you think the missile did her in?"  
  
"HA!" the pilot laughed. "Whom do you take me for? Just 'cause I'm a big softy at heart doesn't make me stupid, Mr. U."  
  
"Glad you feel that way." He nodded. "And now that you've done such a nice job clearing the street, lower altitude and open fire. We're not leaving the country with an unfinished job under our belts."  
  
"Yes sir, lowering altitude by 15 feet." The hitman replied, and his eye beamed pure joy as it ran over her limp body. Kim Possible--the wench who killed his father, who put a grapple in his neck, was down--finally down. A wicked smile crawled across his face as his guts leveled off in his body. "Acquiring target."  
  
Yes, nothing could get in his way now--  
  
--"THIS IS THE CZECH MILITARY!" something called loudly in the language, so loud even he could ear it through the thrumming of the 'copter's blades. --  
  
--Though he spoke too soon. His neck gave out; the base of his skull pressed against the base of his neck. His eyes rolled, the good one catching the sight of a tanned Mi-28 Havoc hovering close by, its considerable combat load trained right on them.  
  
"Shia," he moaned, "disengage the target. Move out before that Havoc opens fire on us."  
  
"I think they'll open fire on us even if we try to move, Sir." The pilot noted.  
  
"Yeah, that's true." He shook his head. "But let me handle the diplomacy! Just keep the chopper steady."  
  
"Um--right, Mr. U."  
  
***  
  
Something blared overhead, loud and disjointed over the Apache's chopping blades like someone was speaking in a foreign tongue. Someone else that is, and Ron didn't know who.  
  
He moved his eye around the socket, trying to catch a glimpse of the speaker. Uzi's craft hovered indifferently above them, but out of the corner of his sight closed in another copter. Its little wings held a truckload of missiles like the Apache, though its body and weapons resembled nothing of its American--err--Israeli counterpart.  
  
"Ron!" coughed the auburn, her body lain haphazardly in front of his face. "What's going on?"  
  
"Two 'copters' right above us." He replied quietly. "One's the Apache while the other has to be military."  
  
The girl rolled her green eyes, sighing. "Ron."  
  
"Yes?" he said.  
  
"They're BOTH MILITARY!" she growled voicelessly.  
  
"Oh--right!" he tapped his head against the cobblestone gently. "Duh!"  
  
"Hmm--duh!" his little buddy affirmed from Kim's pocket.  
  
"What are they doing now?" she whispered.  
  
His eye took a trip to the outside corner once again. The bigger of the two circled slowly around the Apache like the schoolyard bullies back in D-hall.  
  
"The big one's circling around Drazen like it means something." He noted aloud. "I'm not sure what it means, but I don't want to find out."  
  
"Neither do I." She moved gently, moving her hands up close to her dirtied face as if to move.  
  
"Think we can get out of here unmissed?" his aching limbs followed suit.  
  
"They'd miss us.uh--but we wouldn't miss them." She groaned as she pushed herself to her feet, wobbly. His muscles burned as he hoisted his chest off of the stones, uttering a grunt out his mouth as his legs moved close to his chest. He felt his spinal bones shift back into place while he rose.  
  
"Oh. AH--!" he moaned. "That's a sprain!"  
  
"Come on." The girl called. He looked to see the girl caked in street grime limp her way to the nearby corner, and to the possible safety it provided. He nodded as he made his way for it. There was no way the 'copter's could see them in the cramped alley--  
  
--*RATATATATATATATATATAT* --  
  
--But it didn't have to as it seemingly opened fire, yet quieter than before. His knees buckled, but as he went for the sidewalk he noticed that nothing on it looked out of place. like nothing had touched it even as something like a boisterous bumblebee buzzed overhead. The locked hands capping his head parted, and his eyes wondered up the buildings to the skyline.  
  
His lips curled into a sneer as he gazed at his pursuer, standing boldly in his seat out of the open cockpit. His hand seemingly was engulfed in an ovoid ball of fire, and bits and pieces of metal and glass kicked up from back canopy of the larger chopper--  
  
--And the larger 'copter began to chase it's tail, quickly in smaller circles as its form got bigger and bigger. The large vehicle whistled a whinny, droning tune kind of like how a plane whistles as it plunges toward the earth.  
  
--Something sized him by the collar of his shirt, the grasp easily smaller than his fists. He stumbled over his feet as the person dragged him into the alley.  
  
"RON--MOVE!" the voice of his friend barked--and he found his butt back on the pavement.  
  
"Kim!" he cried in protest. "Watch the tailbone, will you?"  
  
"Oh--WATCH IT!" the girl threw herself on top of him, possibly the last thing he'd expect her to do--  
  
--*BOOM!! *  
  
The ground shook--*trembled* beneath them as something hard smashed into the street. Metal cried out, making those stomach-turning moaning sounds as the something buckled and bent in everyway imaginable. He wasn't sure what those quick *TINK* sounds were at first, but it was crystal clear as he saw a flat, ragged shard fly over them, no more than a mere centimeter away--  
  
Everything was silent, quieter than a mausoleum but the still silence couldn't stop a tremendous heat from crashing into his body. He felt like he was on fire, as if the very gates of Hell had opened wide just for his torment.  
  
"KIM!" he called.  
  
"HOLD ON!!" she cried back.  
  
***  
  
In a splendid blast, the Czech helicopter was nothing more than a smoldering heap of garbage, littering a grand old street of Prague. The wench and her troublesome buffoon had to be somewhere beneath the rubble, and if they somehow managed to crawl into the alley before hand, the explosion had to have finished them off for good.  
  
"Oh. daddy would be so proud of me!" he laughed at himself as sat back down. An annoying humming filled what was left of his ears, and a wonderful amount of warmth caressed his naked body as the canopy synched shut. "Wouldn't he be, Shia?"  
  
"Oh--*ahem*--I bet he would, Mr. U." the pilot coughed.  
  
"Sick again?" he rolled his eyes.  
  
"Ulcer's flaring up again." Shia replied, and he heard a small rattling behind him for a moment. "Ah. nothing major."  
  
"I'm telling you," he shook his head, "you should get that bullet removed."  
  
"Should-a, would-a, could-a," the hitman dismissed. "I didn't-a!"  
  
"As you wish, Mr. Button-man!" he replied. "Just get us back home without crashing okay?"  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
"How are we on fuel?"  
  
"We're okay," the pilot replied, "but we have to stop off at Ruzyne- International for some fuel if we're going to make it all the way to Rome."  
  
"Have the arrangements been made?"  
  
"Yes sir. Alpha team has the place secured and have a fuel tank on standby, awaiting our visit."  
  
"So what are we waiting for?" his eyes rolled again. "Let's go already."  
  
"Yes, Mr. U."  
  
***  
  
Ron moaned, shaking sense back into his brain as the Prague city skyline focused in his eyes. He wasn't sure what had happened, something crashed nearby, something blew up nearby, and Kim's body atop his own simply was the crowing touch of it all. His chin touched the top of his chest, and his eyes grew as they ran over her limp body.  
  
She wasn't moving.  
  
"Kim!" he called to her quietly. "Kim!?"  
  
The body let out a pitiful groan, and he thanked the almighty YHWH as her body moved on its own. The pungent stench of burnt hair smoked into his nose, and he could have laughed as the girl in soiled pink tossed her crisp mane behind her back. Her eyes batted before they opened completely. He could have stared into her emerald gaze endlessly, for he could have lost the very one behind that gaze.  
  
"Uh.!" they closed, and she looked away as she put a hand to her head. "Man!"  
  
"I know," he shook his head quickly, feeling his dirty, messy hair whip around his scalp, "we both should be deaf by now."  
  
"It's not that, Ron." That puffy, auburn mane trembled before him, and it slowly disappeared over the horizon that was the very tip of her crown--  
  
His eyes grew wide, and he gasped as he saw that small piece of mangled flesh hang pathetically from her cheek. A few streamers of blood dribbled from the avulsion, pooling into a big smear on her jawbone.  
  
"What's wrong?" she blinked.  
  
"You're face." He pointed weakly. "It's bleeding."  
  
"Really--?" she touched her hand to her cheekbone, carefully trailing down her cheek till they stopped abruptly. where the creek of her crimson trailed down her fingers. She brought the hand to her face, and her pupils shrank as she gazed at it.  
  
"Come on, KP." His body became a crab's, walking on both his hands and his feet as he slid out from under her. He let out a small groan as he pushed himself to his feet again. "Uh! You need to see a doctor."  
  
"Eh." that puffy mane swayed from right to left, shifting on her back as the girl stood up. "Tell me something I don't already know."  
  
"Well." he looked to the blue sky. "Given how dirty the sidewalk is, you could get infected if--"  
  
"Ugh.!" she closed her eyes. "I know, Ron. Let's just get out of here."  
  
Her soiled face was hidden underneath the thick auburn hair as she turned away. She hunched her back as she walked; her left arm still bent, her hand still pressed against her new, bleeding orifice. Something bothered him as he began to follow her, his steps moving a little slower than the girl's. Kim was silent--dead silent.  
  
"What's wrong, KP?" he asked seriously. "Are you crying over there?"  
  
"It's nothing." That mane swayed dismissively again. "My. face just hurts. That's all."  
  
"I bet its more than that, Kim." He noted. "You're hardly ever this quiet."  
  
The reddish mane whipped around her round head, her bloodshot eyes brimmed with tears, her bleeding features twisted in irritation.  
  
"I said it's nothing, Ron!" he jumped at her snap. "Just. leave it at that! Okay!?"  
  
He was treated with nothing more than her backside, walking down the last stretch of the dank alley. He blinked as she was enveloped by the sunlight as she slumped out, indifferent that he was still there.  
  
*Something's definitely up. * he nodded, and he couldn't help but peek over his shoulder at the wreckage, the whole thing smoldering as the fires cracked like a campfire.  
  
"RON!" the girl called--no--yelled down the alleyway. "You coming or what!?"  
  
".Coming Kim." He said quietly.  
  
"What?" she called back.  
  
"I said I'm coming KP!" his chest tingled with anger. "Damn!"  
  
The rest of the day was quiet from that moment forward. 


	9. Chapter 9

9  
  
Kim's fingers absently ran over the threads on her cheek, the stitches she had to have sown in her flesh, like they were splinters. The whole process sucked. The doctor at Middleton General was a sadist, administering nothing to quell the pain as his fingers worked their magic the strings.  
  
She couldn't complain much. At least she was back at home, zoning out to the mindless blather on the family's big screen. She chuckled weakly. She made international headlines with her little race around Prague, and thankfully no one had made the connection between her and the mysterious event. It was a strange thing about her really, because no one else announces her own presence with such a fanfare.  
  
She frowned. *Uzi.! * The intelligibility was lost in her growl. He'd get his just desserts; she'd make sure of it.  
  
Her neck gave out, and her head flopped onto her shoulder. From the angle, her mother clad in purple sat at attention in the high-backed, winged chair. In her spidery grasp, she fumbled with a small revolver-- probably the one she and her dad had purchased--carelessly like she never held it before. On the carpet near her pumps sat a black, plastic box no bigger than her forearm.  
  
"Don't kill yourself now, mom." she smirked weakly as she let her body flop onto the rest of the couch. She bounced gently as the springs recoiled. "It'd be pretty ironic to find a top neurosurgeon with a GSW on her head."  
  
"Thank you for the vote of confidence, Kimmie." The mother looked up from her careless work, blue eyes beaming the sarcasm.  
  
"Isn't my fault you look like you're about to shoot yourself!" she laughed. "The way you fumble with it and all."  
  
"I know what I'm doing." The gun made a *click* as she nudged the cylinder closed.  
  
"Then why are you staring down the barrel then?" she smirked. "And why's your thumb resting on a hair trigger, hmm?"  
  
The woman blinked as she dropped her gaze to her lap, and the gun went airborne for a moment before her mother grabbed it out of the air. She trained the snubbed muzzle to the carpet.  
  
"Uh--right!" the mother nodded. "Thank you, Kimmie."  
  
"No big." She shook her head. "That's why I've got that training under my belt."  
  
"Indeed." The mother said. "But how's that guest of ours? Is she comfortable?"  
  
"Who?" her body felt like it sank a few inches on the sofa as she sat up. "Hershel?"  
  
"Yeah." The mother affirmed. "That tan blonde who walks like she owns the place. What's she doing?"  
  
Ariel Hershel decided to crash her downtime, about an hour after she got home from the Middleton Airport. It had been about three hours since she strolled in the door, and she spent all of it yelling at the person on the other end of the phone lines when she wasn't drinking them out of the house. In fact, she could barely hear that accent of hers over the TV.  
  
"Either screaming at her higher-ups or ordering something from the delicatessen very loudly." She chuckled.  
  
The tanned woman strolled out of the kitchen doorway gracefully with her open jacket and business skirt, her skin a contrast to her beet red face as she screamed into her cell phone.  
  
"I'm telling you for the last time!" the woman yelled, almost foaming at the mouth. "I want that corn beef on rye bread, not wheat!"  
  
Kim rolled her eyes. "Called that one."  
  
The cell phone closed, clicking shut just before it disappeared into her jacket pocket. Her heeled shoes wobbled a bit on the plush carpet as the woman strolled toward the couch. The blonde grabbed her by her ankles.  
  
"What are you--?" Kim got her answer as the woman dropped them onto the floor, nearly taking the whole body with it. "Hey!"  
  
"Hey what?" the rude Barbie doll shrugged. "Remember, I'm the guest now."  
  
Her head rolled along with her eyes as she sighed. "Is everyone in the intelligence business as blunt as you?"  
  
"It's a double edged sword really:" the Barbie doll tossed a large lock of wavy hair onto her back, with a whip of her head, "finesse means everything and nothing in this business. Kind of like your Sunday drive through Prague, if I remember right."  
  
"The epitome of it all, right?" She groaned. "Just be grateful that no one got hurt."  
  
"Got hurt?" the woman blinked. "Oh--you mean like those VSA members your boyfriend torched, right?"  
  
The open shape of her eyes pressed into a thin slit just as her lips.  
  
"No," the blonde continued, "they're not hurt. They're dead--but they're not hurt."  
  
"How long are you going to keep this up!?" she spun onto her back, her abs crunching as she sat up.  
  
"As long as it takes, Ms. Possible!" the woman stood up, as if to lord the power over her like the boss to a stuck up employee. "That little stunt drive you took nearly torched the city! The Czech government is up in arms over it--and the UN is having a fit with Israel over Syria! Do you really want to escalate that!?"  
  
"No--I--!"  
  
"Then you'll lay low as long as I see fit!" the woman crossed her arms firmly. "Your mission was reconnaissance--not shoot the place up like Beirut!"  
  
She blinked. "But--I--!"  
  
"Hershel's right, Kim." The voice of her mother joined the scolding. She didn't bother to look over. "I didn't think intelligence gathering involved the gun fight at the OK Corral."  
  
Her head shook as she slid down the length of the couch, her hairs shaped like bobby pins as her arm draped over her eyes.  
  
"It is when Uzi's in the mix." She said flatly.  
  
The blonde dropped her arms. The limbs dangled at her sides as her the whites of her eyes grew.  
  
"What?" the woman said quizzically.  
  
"He's still alive." She said. "Mangled to hell, but alive nonetheless. He was receiving treatment at that hospital in Prague. It's probably the reason why Bonnet was hanging around the city, more or less."  
  
"Damn it--this changes everything!" the woman cursed. A limb became useful again, as did its hand as she jabbed it into her pocket at tore out the cell phone. It flipped open with a flick of her wrist. The phone rang out in various, flat bleats as she thumbed the buttons. The receiver pressed against her ear, and she spoke in some kind of tongue.  
  
The phone clicked shut like defective castanet, and it disappeared behind the flap of her jacket.  
  
"Ugh." the woman buried her head into a hand, thick locks draping over the hand like the branches of a willow tree, "and if my superior wasn't thrilled enough."  
  
"What?" she sat back up. "What's going on?"  
  
"There's been a suicide bombing in Tel Aviv." The locks swayed gently as the head shook. "About 10 people have died and many more are injured."  
  
Her heart felt as if it sank a few inches in her chest, the guilt swelling in the back of her mind like a tumor.  
  
"Many of them are children."  
  
Her heart sank as her guts twisted in knots.  
  
"Oh my God!" her mother gasped. Something fell onto the carpet in the pregnant silence, hitting the plush textile with a *thud*. She flopped onto her belly, and her heart nearly broke as she gazed at those broken eyes, brimmed with tears.  
  
The revolver sat on the carpet, sitting in its plush area as her mother took her leave, heels clacking as she moved into the tiled kitchen briskly.  
  
"W--!" She couldn't speak. Her hands clenched into tight fists, trembling at the sudden anger that rushed through her system. "Who--Who did this!? Boy--are they going to get it!"  
  
"That Uzi character." her mother cried with a broken voice. "How could he do such a thing!? To his OWN people!"  
  
The blonde capped head looked up. "DID YOU HEAR A DAMN THING!?" the woman's accent was nowhere to be heard within the shout. "I said SUICIDE BOMBING!"  
  
"Uzi or NOT!" she yelled in an anguished, uncontrollable rage as it burned throughout her body like a wildfire. "I'm still going to get them! I bet it was those terrorist groups!"  
  
"You may be right." The accent returned in Ariel's voice. "But no one's claimed responsibility yet. Regardless, latest satellite footage shows VSA troops on the move toward the West Bank. Last I recall they weren't picky fighters."  
  
"What are you saying?"  
  
"Take Milosevic, and times him by 10!" the blonde said strongly. "The VSA hates Muslims and hates the US even more!"  
  
"But--what'd we do?" she growled.  
  
"Given how your government is constantly restraining Israel from taking retaliatory action for every bombing, they have a lot of reason for hating you." The woman explained as she took a seat on the couch. "Plus this Road Map the current administration is backing doesn't help the case either."  
  
"But you guys need it--!"  
  
"Let me make this clear--" the woman frowned grudgingly. "ISRAEL IS SOVERIGN!! We will do whatever we see fit to protect ourselves--and by God- -we will NOT LET YOU TAKE IT FROM US!!"  
  
--Kim found herself at the corner of the couch, huddled with her knees pressing into her breasts, shivering like that neurotic Pepe dog. The locks of blonde hair whipped around as the woman shook her head, seemingly shaking the anger off like flecks of water. Her hands disappeared into her briefcase that lay on the coffee table.  
  
"The smart people's opinions aside:" the blonde said coolly, "you're still under contract with the Israeli government, and we'd like you to prepare for your next assignment."  
  
"What is it?" her breathing eased. A quizzical frown tugged her lips as the agent--her superior--withdrew a book from the chocolate briefcase. And she rolled her eyes just after they caught the black, sans serif title printed on the cover, as if she knew it all along:  
  
The Idiot's Guide to the Middle East Conflict.  
  
"Welcome to Israel, Ms. Possible." The woman stated.  
  
***  
  
*BAM! * The CAR-15 shouted out the spilt second after Tara had pulled the trigger. A blood red stripe raced for the target stand, ringing out with a *TANG* and ricocheting up into the air from the pockmarked plate a good 100+ yards downrange.  
  
The eyepieces of Yune's binoculars pressed into his eyes--and right off the bat, the bullet had hit the steel plate dead center. There was a hole on the target paper that was tapped to the plate; the globular tear brimmed with black a few mere millimeters away from the bull's-eye.  
  
"Did I hit anything?" the girl asked. The binoculars swung to his chest by the tether, bouncing on his sternum once. Tara had his pre-ban Bushmaster carefully in her small grasp, the flash-suppressed barrel trained downrange and the bolt clanged as she easily slapped in another nine-round magazine.  
  
"You bet!" he nodded. "Almost dead center on your first magazine, with the iron sights too."  
  
The blonde's eyes beamed pure delight. "Really?" her smile was wide and full of giddy.  
  
"Now would I lie to you?" he chuckled.  
  
"Do you got a reason to?" her head tilted curiously.  
  
"Nope." His good hand cupped onto his bad shoulder, massaging the muscle gently before it flopped back at his side. "Sure don't."  
  
"Glad to hear it." She nodded as she took up her shooting stance again; the collapsible stock of the rifle square against her tiny shoulder. "But is there anything I could work on?"  
  
"One." He smirked teasingly.  
  
Tara's open eye gazed at him. "And that would be?"  
  
"Yeah." He shook his head. "You should dress for the occasion. Do you always have to wear that every time we're out?"  
  
The stock dropped from her shoulder as she looked over her trademark ensemble. Her head whipped back up upon her shoulders, her face confounded.  
  
"What's wrong with it?" she asked.  
  
"I told you should dress down for a time at the range." He shook his head. "Yet here you are in the same thing you wore last time."  
  
"It's so NOT the same thing!" she frowned.  
  
"Is too." He smirked.  
  
"IS NOT!" the rifle made a clunk as she gently--more or less--set the gun down on the table. "The last outfit came from Club Banana! These ones came from Smarty Mart!"  
  
"I fail to see the difference--"  
  
"There's a HUGE difference!" her makeshift clog kicked up a tiny whiff of dirt as she stamped her foot boldly.  
  
"Last I've heard, both outlet chains are owned by the same company." He noted from an earlier conversation with Ron. "Same company, same merchandise the way I see it."  
  
"Ugh!" she rolled her eyes. "Syllogism noted!"  
  
"Oh!" he chuckled. "T's angry! She's using really big words now!"  
  
"Remind me to hand you your soul the next time we spar!" she growled.  
  
"Is it a blue-light special?" he pressed jokingly. "Bin-Mok's soul, aisle 5!"  
  
She threw up her hands in disgust. "UGH--!" she yelled hoarsely. "MEN!!"  
  
"Can't live with them, can't live without them!" he noted playfully again.  
  
His brow perked as something bleated out from his hip; his phone bleating out Fur Elise like a manic-depressive instrument. The light danced across the plastic case in the midday sun, the belt clip snapped quietly as he relieved the phone from its catch in the fifth pocket. The whinny tune ceased as he thumbed the blue lined button.  
  
"Hello?" he asked.  
  
"Yune?" called out the voice of that redheaded freelancer. "It's Kim."  
  
"I know." He nodded, speaking rather loudly over T's quick staccato of shots. "I saw the number read-out on my phone."  
  
"What's going on over there?" her voice was overrun by the gunfire. "Sounds like war."  
  
"In a manner of speaking." He chuckled under his breath. "If you call T's time at the range that."  
  
"I heard that!" he looked over, quickly eyeing the blonde's solid frown.  
  
"Besides our day on the prairie, what's going on at the Possible household?" he asked. "Is that blonde over there giving you shit over your driving skills?"  
  
"Well--duh, Yune!" the auburn exclaimed. "Given how the networks had a field day with it. I'm lucky that my house isn't swarmed with paparazzi!"  
  
"Thanks to a little disinformation from the Czech government, right?"  
  
"Exactly."  
  
"So what's up?" A kink rose from his sinking brow. "You don't need me for anything, do you?"  
  
"Actually, we do." The freelancer replied.  
  
"Who's we?" his lips pulled into a corner.  
  
"Ron and I, Yune!" she exclaimed. "Don't play dumb. It was Ron and I last time and before, and it's the same this time around."  
  
"So what?" he rolled his eyes. "You could have recruited another person after we got back home, like dropping a rock."  
  
".Uh.what?"  
  
"Past experience tells you when you drop a rock, gravity pulls it down towards its center. Yet the next time you release it, it could either drop accordingly or float up to the ceiling."  
  
"And. what's your point?" his junior asked.  
  
"The past can never determine the future." He concluded, nodding as if to assert it.  
  
"You're being paranoid." There was a long-winded sigh after the last word.  
  
"Maybe," he pressed, "maybe not. You never know till it's too late."  
  
"Ugh!" the girl sighed gruffly. "Do you want to help us or not!?"  
  
*Why do I have the feeling I'm not going to get that afternoon nap I deserve.? * His mind egged him.  
  
"My arm's still in a sling." He said. "So wherever you're going, or whatever you want me to do, Tara has to come too."  
  
"This is a pretty chaotic region were traveling too." The girl pointed out. "It's too dangerous for her. But the Mossad will provide you with all the medical support you need."  
  
"Where are we going then?" he asked.  
  
".Israel." She said flatly.  
  
He laughed.  
  
"What's so funny?" she asked.  
  
"All that drama for that little place?" he blinked hysterically. "Please!"  
  
"But the suicide bombings--!"  
  
"Trust me on this," he stated, "the country, Jerusalem in particular, has a lower murder rate than Denver. With only 5 murders in the past year, three of them related to terrorism."  
  
"But--!"  
  
"Tara will be safe, don't worry." He assured.  
  
"But--!"  
  
"Either Tara goes, or I don't go." He frowned. "I don't trust anyone else but her."  
  
"But. oh--fine!" the girl gave up. "Have it your way! But you have to keep an eye on her!"  
  
"That's fine with me." He nodded.  
  
"Then get packing." Kim said. "Our flight leaves tomorrow morning."  
  
"Rodger." He thumbed the line button, feeling it click beneath the pad of his thumb. The clip of the phone met the lip of his fifth pocket once more.  
  
The blonde set his pre-ban carbine down gently upon the wood table, her eyes beaming just like her wide smile.  
  
"So. where are we going to now, Yune?" she grinned. "Paris, Berlin, Seoul?"  
  
"Well." he looked up into the clear, baby-blue sky in thought. "How does a trip to the Middle East sound?"  
  
***  
  
Everything seemed so distant, so detached as if he was in a dream. Ron couldn't believe his ears when Kimberly told him the news. It had been well over 10 years since he left the promised land, as did a certain. *completeness* when his shoes touched off of the pledged ground when he boarded the departing flight.  
  
A chill ran up his spine, spreading its frosty tingle throughout his body.  
  
He was going back home.  
  
With the permission of his parents, he decided to spend the night over at Kim's house since the trip to Middleton International was shorter than from his place. He gazed blankly up at the ceiling. The heel of his foot tapped his duffel bag as he carelessly moved his leg; the pile of fabricated cloth merely ruffled indifferently.  
  
The bottom of his jaw pressed flatly against the top of his chest as he glanced at the diligent auburn at her workstation. The screen of her desktop flickered in a Technicolor lightshow, typically of whites, blues, and few varying colors in between. That Mossad agent, Hershel, gave Kim some information about her latest endeavor via email through a secure line. Hershel made sure of that before she left.  
  
"Um. what exactly are you looking at, Kim?" his butt sank a few inches in the mattress as he sat up.  
  
The redhead glanced over her shoulder briefly, only to just acknowledge his presence.  
  
"Oh--it's nothing that we haven't seen already, Ron." She explained. "You know: maps, profiles, communication transcripts, GPS, etcetera, and etcetera."  
  
"Pf.!" he scoffed. "Just that? Heck--Wade does that stuff already."  
  
"Too true," that puffy, reddened mane bobbed, "but we can't use him with the government breathing down our necks."  
  
"But his transmissions are highly encrypted, with only the Kimmunicator satellite playing middleman." He argued. "Not even the NSA can crack the cipher!"  
  
"But they'll shut us down if they even suspect we're exchanging sensitive material."  
  
"Bah!" he chuckled. "They can't even find Saddam Hussein!"  
  
"But there's always the 'yet'." She noted distantly, the voice drowned under the humming drone of her desktop.  
  
The bedsprings squeaked as he pushed himself off the bed, the carpet scraping against the soles of his feet as he shuffled over to the workstation. The puffy, red hair blocked his view of the screen, coated with a layer of dust no thinner than a hair. There was a small wad of dead skin sitting in the corner, thicker than the rest, almost as if it had been packed down during a dusting like replanted earth. Millimeters below the wad were characters of a language, his people's language, emblazoned in red along with three letters of English in a circular pattern.  
  
"VSA." he mouthed.  
  
"Also known as the 'Victims' Separatist Army'." Kim looked at him generally. "But there are rumors going around the country that wasn't the original title of the faction."  
  
"Well." he shrugged, "do have any idea?"  
  
"Actually, quite a few people think it stands for 'Victims of the Smiling Ass'." She shook her head amusingly, gently, rolling her eyes all the while. "But I can see why they'd think that."  
  
He nodded too, as the gnarled visage of the PA chairman flashed in this mind, crowned with that head garment he joked was a tea blanket. There was no way he could forget that smug, delirious grin that constantly crawled across his grizzled features after a bombing when they weren't bobbing incessantly.  
  
"I hear that!" he smirked. "Amazing how the old coot's still alive too. after all he did."  
  
"I'm not going to argue about that." She waved her hand passively. "We've got far more things to worry about."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Public relations, for one thing." She said. "According to these reports, the Israeli public sees Drazen as a hero, incredibly with bi-partisan support from the left and right. And they're not going to be happy when they find their 'hero' packed in a body bag. Even a few reports state how a sympathetic crowd turned on the police during a raid."  
  
"That's a given." He folded his arms.  
  
"It seems this wannabe junta had become a force to be reckoned with, over the last few weeks." She continued as windows flickered on and off the screen as she pleased. "So powerful, in fact, they can operate in broad daylight and police are powerless to stop them."  
  
He blinked. "How can a ragtag army do that?"  
  
"The reports have nothing on their power-plays." She shrugged. "But when the whole world's against you, you've got nothing to lose. And given the country's advanced nuclear arsenal."  
  
"Right." He gave his forehead a good whap. "If my people go down, so does a good chunk of the Middle East."  
  
"And we can't let that happen." The auburn mane shook side to side. "Tough, if your people can't stand the thought of Uzi's death. We're not letting World War Three start because of him."  
  
"Amen to that." He nodded.  
  
"You'd better leave now, Ron." She turned around. A smooth elbow popped over the back of the chair, wedging the top of the back underneath her armpit. "I'm going to be up here for a while, figuring this stuff out."  
  
He rolled his eyes. "Like last time?"  
  
"Just like last time," she nodded, tapping her crown with a finger thrice, "except our cover won't get blown. I hope. But I call you once something clicks upstairs."  
  
"You really need to take a break sometimes, KP." He shook his head. "You're going to go crazy one of these days if you don't."  
  
"Don't worry about me, Ron." She looked away. "Seriously. Go downstairs and watch TV or something. Isn't 'Steel Toe' supposed to be on tonight?"  
  
He felt his heart jump at the wrestling title. "Oh--that's *right*!" he shook some sense back into his head. What was he thinking? Absolutely nothing got in the way of GWA "Night of a Hundred Bruises", and his little buddy was probably searching high and low for him. "I totally forgot about the little guy! If we missed the show, he'd be crushed."  
  
"Uh." Kim, as usual, was speechless at his resolve. Kim, he'd never understand her. How could anyone not love the GWA, how skilled athletes go one-on-one in mortal combat for the ultimate prize?  
  
*The mind boggles. * he thought.  
  
"Do you want to watch with us?" he smiled excitedly. "STEEL TOE RULES!!"  
  
His heart stopped its brawling-infatuated twitter completely, as a small frown pulled at the corners of the auburn's lips. A beaming kink was on her brow as she tapped at the screen.  
  
"Planning.!" she crossed her legs.  
  
"Your loss, KP." He shrugged as a foot went for the steps. "But someday, you're going to wish you had enjoyed the good life while it lasted!"  
  
He spun on his heel smoothly--too soon, he quickly noticed, as he lost complete control of his body. The walls of the stairwell sped past him hurriedly, as did the dark steps beneath him--very *hard* steps his back crashed into on his cumbersome descent. Pain wrapped around his skull tightly just as he tumbled out of the second floor ceiling, and he stopped face first onto the plush carpet at the bottom of the ebony steps.  
  
Hurried footsteps flooded his ears, patting toward him from everywhere imaginable. His fingers curled on one hand, and he lifted his arm high into the air above him as far as it could go, unfolding his index finger as the fist reached the zenith.  
  
"I'm okay!" he called to no one, yet everyone.  
  
***  
  
*Suddenly, Middleton's bombing seems so irrelevant now.. * Kim's mind whispered.  
  
Israel was at a dangerous crossroad in its short 50-plus years of existence, and she couldn't sit by idly while the crack that was Drazen's pride-and-joy threatened to tear the territory--the world apart. The later reports on her desktop computer were disgusting; invasion, refugee camps-- Uzi and his motley crew of thugs were systematically killing their way through the West Bank and Gaza. And her inquiry from Wade came back.. From all of it, it was only a matter of time before the punk's terrorist crusade spilt into the other countries.  
  
The private jet sat in front of her, the steps to the region's future lowering at her feet while the pilots readied for take off. The jet's destination was Egypt; Israel was far too dangerous for her and the Ron right off the bat. The VSA would be scouring the airports, municipal and international alike. Instead, the Mossad decided it was better if they sneaked into the country from the Sinai and travel up to Tel Aviv along the coast; ironic since its where the VSA was most concentrated.  
  
Her ears barely caught the sound of footsteps behind her, disjointed like two people walking close together. She looked over her shoulder, and Tara and Yune walked closer, smiling warmly at each other with arm and arm like true couple. They wouldn't be joining them in Cairo. Instead the couple will be at the hotel before them, warm and toasty while they sneak into the country like rats in the cold dead of night.  
  
"Why do we get the short end of the stick?" Ron whined from the jet's steps, with black duffel bag in hand. "We're the VIPs on this mission!"  
  
"Because the thugs won't be looking for us when we leave the airport." The Korean smirked as they passed her, taking their sweet time as they trotted up the steps together. "Easy does it, T."  
  
"Right." the blonde smiled warmly back at him, as she hefted her bag up the steps.  
  
From out of the doorway, popped out the blonde capped woman everyone came to know as the superior, Hershel. Simple business clothes adorned her curves like last time, brown business skirt with a matching jacket that flapped freely in the breeze over her button-down shirt. Fashionable work pumps lifted her heels off the ground no more than an inch.  
  
"Everyone ready to depart?" the superior asked flatly.  
  
"Ready and willing!" Tara's smile was wide, as if the whole thing was a game. Kim sympathized with the woman as both rolled their eyes.  
  
"Right." the blonde sighed.  
  
Kim bent at the knees, and she hoisted her own duffle bag up behind her shoulder. She placed a foot onto the bottom step as the lovebirds made it three-quarters of the way up.  
  
"And where are you going, ma'am?" she didn't bother to hide her contempt.  
  
"Tel-Aviv." Hershel replied. "Just like this happy couple."  
  
She was halfway up the steps, grunting to keep the bag up as it wanted to dip lower than what her joints were capable. "Why." she breathed, "do you. get. to go. there?"  
  
"Most of the VSA don't know me, but they sure as heck know you!" the woman nodded. "Most of the 'troops' think your dead. Let's not give them any reason to think different."  
  
"Uh--!" she grunted. ".Right."  
  
The couple turned the corner as their feet touched flatly down upon the hard carpet of the plane. She tossed her bag carelessly in through the skewed portal with a grunt, watching the black sack crumple and fall on the carpet flat. Her journey up the rest of the cramped flight never had been easier.  
  
"Are you done, She-Hulk?" Hershel snidely remarked as she hoisted up her bag upon entry. Her eyes rolled disgustedly. "Anymore muscles you need to flex?"  
  
Her lip twitched grudgingly at the blonde's smug grin.  
  
"If you do," she chuckled, "could you be a Neanderthal, and hoist up those awfully heavy steps?"  
  
Out her sneered lips came forth a disgusted growl as her eyes took another lap around their sockets.  
  
"Don't worry about that, ma'am." She turned to see the co-pilot standing at the ready outside the cockpit's shifting curtain. A dark, tanned head capped the neatly pressed uniform as he yanked the folding stairs in. "They can be a pain sometimes. Kind of like dear Ariel over yonder."  
  
"I'm very shocked at that, Tuvia!" The blonde in question said flatly, unimpressed. "After lunch, I think I'll faint!"  
  
"We can only hope." the co-pilot shook his head dismissively as he turned for the curtain.  
  
"I bet!" the woman yawned before she sat her body up straight. "All right, everyone settled? The plane's taking off in 10 minutes--!"  
  
"15 minutes, since we have to taxi." A voice--a different voice called from behind the beige curtain, the pilot. Kim couldn't stifle a well-deserved chuckle as the blonde groaned.  
  
She took to the nearest seat, jamming her heavy duffel into the overhead bin with a huff. The leather seat squelched under her bottom as she sat down, squeaking out a little more as she shifted for a comfortable spot.  
  
Her arm touched the armrest--and she wrenched it back as if a snake had struck her. She had touched something firm-yet-soft and dry, like skin. She looked over--and Ron seemed to have taken the seat right next to her beforehand. His blond head laid flat against the headrest, and his boyish, freckled face showed nothing of surprise--or even expression for that matter. It's almost as if the lifeless heap of flesh next to her wasn't Ron at all, and Rufus had been exceptionally quiet all morning.  
  
*Almost like he's thinking. *  
  
"Ron?" she said quietly.  
  
The head shifted towards her, the brown eyes moved toward her own.  
  
"Yeah. KP?" he yawned.  
  
"Anything on your mind, Ron?" she hunched forward as would a benched player.  
  
"I'm going home, KP." He said emotionlessly, creepily. "I'm going home."  
  
The head moved away as she felt something shift underfoot, and her gut moved in all directions as she saw the world outside scroll by over the whining of the engines. There was a pregnant silence between them--yet her ears twitched at the sound of something different, like flat music--organic music straight from someone next to her.  
  
*Is Ron. humming? * 


	10. Chapter 10

10  
  
The rough waters of the Mediterranean never looked so beautiful as the orange ball in the sky sank below its shifting surface. Sunset had fallen upon the coastal town of Tel Aviv, and it was time for the crazy partygoers to paint the city's nightlife red. A time of an uneasy truce between the Abrahamic siblings as they partied together the cold, Middle Eastern night away.  
  
Benjamin held his UZI close as the festive hoards closed in on his security post, just outside the nightclub's door.  
  
"Ease up, Ben." Said his partner, Paul. He stood laxly at the other side of the walkthrough detector, his GALIL rifle dangling at his sides just like his hands. "Not every patron is a bomber."  
  
"But you're stupid for taking that to the extreme." Ben eyed the partygoers- -the ones with towels crowning their heads-as they passed through the detector without a beep. "Did you hear about that soldier that joined the separatists the other day?"  
  
The carefree guard leaned toward him intently. "You mean the one who was friends with those Palestinians?"  
  
"The very same!" he nodded. "One day, during an assistance call to another group, his convoy was blown sky high! Five out of six--FIVE OUT OF SIX DIED! He was lucky to escape with only a burn--"  
  
"That took up half his face!" the lax guard noticed-as he let a few more toweled individuals pass without a word.  
  
"Uh--yeah.!" he continued. "Later, it was revealed that someone threw an old landmine right in front of the Hummer. And *guess* who he saw stroll casually away from the scene?"  
  
"That mother figure he always talked about?" the lazy guard yawned.  
  
"Of course." He nodded. "Who else would it be? She *was* a widow after all, and her children are just toddlers."  
  
The guard stood up, and gazed at him squarely. "What do you mean, 'was'?"  
  
"Simple." He shrugged. "He wasted the whole lot of them at their bunker in Jenin. When he approached a VSA recruiter literally red-handed, the group accepted him wholeheartedly."  
  
"Pf--those VSA thugs are nothing but that!" the guard shook his head. "Thugs!"  
  
"Boys!" he stood up at the sound of that silky smooth accent, American, just over the growing clacking of pumps. From the darkened street, walked up to them a beautiful face he'd grown to loath. Brown hair at shoulder length filtered in though the shadows; capping a pale, oval head dotted with two gray eyes. "How's business on the Mediterranean?"  
  
He stumbled for the name of the bane of his profession. "Va. viv. ver--!"  
  
"Vivian." The bane interjected. "It's Vivian. You know, the attorney from the ACLU?"  
  
He rolled his eyes. "How can I forget?"  
  
"Ms. Dixie?" Paul smiled brightly. for some reason Ben couldn't put his finger on. "How can we help you?"  
  
"Just keeping tabs on my two favorite guards." Her smile was about as sweet as pure venom. "Not giving the Muslims any trouble, are we?"  
  
A sigh escaped his lips; the harassment was about as bad as legal terrorism could get. Was all this trouble, just because he shoved around a Muslim--a surly, American Muslim--who was starting nothing but trouble in his nightclub? Any guard, any bouncer with a brain working in his head would have done the same thing, regardless of one's personal, religious affiliation!  
  
Paul yawned again. "No ma'am."  
  
Ben narrowed his eyes. His SMG tapped against his side as he folded his arms defiantly.  
  
"Whether we give them carte blanche, or we tie them all up in rocks and throw them in the south side of the Dead Sea, it's our business--not yours!"  
  
There was a small, impatient tapping coming from the woman's shoe as she folded her arms as well.  
  
"You deliberately assaulted my client, defying his civil rights as an American citizen--!"  
  
"Wake up and smell the Matzo, Johnson!" he growled. "This is Israeli soil, and there's no such thing as a constitutional democracy over here!"  
  
"That's no excuse for assaulting my client!" she huffed.  
  
"You liberals are all the same!" he shook his head. A few more cloaked individuals passed by, but he paid them no attention, not when the she--the castrator stood by with knife in hand, ready to slice. "It wasn't like I stomped into your embassy and took a leak on the American flag! Heaven, forbid a man from doing his job to God and country!"  
  
He took in a deep whiff of sea level air as a breeze brushed over the nightclub.  
  
"Still doesn't excuse your actions!" she growled like a cat. "We can be friends! Or we can be enemies! Ball's in your court--!"  
  
--Something smelled strange in the gentle breeze, something that shouldn't have even been smelled. His nose caught something fowl and wretched, like someone had just walked past him after they had fertilized their lawn with liquid manure for a whole day--  
  
--His mind clicked.  
  
*Fertilizer!? Manure!? *  
  
"Oh--SHIT!!"  
  
--He didn't know what he heard at first. It sounded like something breaking. A loud, ear-splitting, splintering sound that bombarded his ears- -and the sound of shattering glass was the crowning touch over a stifled wail of a thousand screams.  
  
He was flying, gracefully across the street or so it seemed. Out of the corners of his eyes were shards of broken glass. and small fragments of metal flying beside him, over a ground that magically turned orange. The color shifted in hue and shade as it spilt over the width of the street. The glass and the metal were swallowed up in the color as the dropped to the ground, as did he.  
  
"Aw man.!" he groaned.  
  
From out of the blast, he heard fire burning. a lot of it as it many colors of orange, red, and black danced coarsely on the black asphalt. Feeling slowly returned to his body as he felt the very asphalt beneath the heap that was his body. Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet, turning around apparently in slow motion--  
  
"Oh--my--God!"  
  
The nightclub, where he spent many a good year in his wild youth, was reduced to a heap of smoldering rubble in no more than a split second. The charred bones of the patrons gave off a smoky, cooked scent that made him want to gag, and the crisp structure was collapsed on the front side. It wouldn't be long before the makeshift crematorium caved in atop the mass grave.  
  
He could barely hear the nearby people scream; the throbbing in his head was intense. His boot shuffled forward about an inch, only to wedge underneath something soft and squishy. His eyes were wide as tea saucers when he looked at his bloodied partner atop his boot.  
  
Paul was dead; he could see it in that blank, accusing stare. The back was severely gashed with every bit and piece of glass and fragment imaginable, brimmed with runny red. There was a clean, crimson slice on his neck, oozing the valuable fluid profusely. The rifle rested in pieces beside its owner, warped and useless with the magazine's twisted spring jutting out at an awkward angle.  
  
"Uh.." He heard a distant groan, faint and feminine. He looked closely at the burning heap, and he saw something twitch by a small pile of what looked like siding. But it took more of a distinct shape as he closed in on it, with a slow, shuffled step at a time. A woman's business suit enveloped the figure, soiled with the grime of the street and even more with crimson. A pale head capped the suit, with brown shoulder length hair caked with red grime and plastered to the scalp.  
  
"Vivian.!" A sullen rage flushed through him as he stared coldly at the dying form. "*Ya khatikhat khara*.!"  
  
Despite the utter soreness burning in his body, he trained the barrel of his SMG quickly at the middle of her bloodied crown.  
  
"Uh--" she hacked out with a haggard, dying breath, "wait! Don't. you want to. hear--my--last--words?"  
  
He never grinned so sinisterly in his whole life.  
  
"Just did.!" his finger quickly took back the trigger--  
  
--*BAM! *--  
  
--And her head made a final jump as the hydra-shock round punched through, ending her life without a single second thought.  
  
*Served you right! *  
  
Down the darkened, shadowed street, he ran for sweet life. It wouldn't be too long before the police found out what really happened to "that poor, American casualty", and he didn't want to be around when the coroner's report came back.  
  
The VSA: it was his only safe haven, and a place where a man of his stature could truly be appreciated.  
  
*Major Uzi, say hello to your new recruit! *  
  
***  
  
To his nerves, Uzi's arm felt as it had been numbed up to kingdom come and sliced cleanly off; which, it had been. The rest of his arm bared the scar of the Osprey's blade, a painful reminder that would forever remind him how close he came to Heaven's door at the hands of that accursed wench--that American heathen!  
  
His neck took a break, and the weight of the shrapnel imbedded on his head carried it down, angling it a bit to the left. The nice lunch he had would have miraculously worked its way back up his throat, if his brain didn't perpetually feel like it was swimming, as his good eye ran over the operation in progress. It seemed that the tissue at the elbow had been cut open, held open by clamps of some kind, as the Organ Grinder's doctor seemed to screw a metal plate into the jagged bone, latex fingers coated with his oozing red.  
  
Crimson dribbled onto the shiny tray in tiny drops as the good doctor set the screwdriver down, and he swore he felt his butt pucker as the latex hand took up a welding tool. The other hand scooped up a handful of granules, spilt from an open bag of QuikClot.  
  
"Is that necessary?" a kink formed in his tired brow.  
  
"Absolutely, sir." The doctor's voice was muffled from under that paper mask. The yellow crumbs soaked up the oozing crimson greedily like a sponge while the man shook it on like salt. "You need the strongest hinge- joint possible to carry your new load."  
  
"What new load?" he asked, as his eye ran over the doctor's seemingly good work. From the reinforced joint down, his new prosthetic looked nothing more than a tangled mess of metal on the top, twitching at his whim, with a rapier blade fixed on the bottom, seemingly worked in sync with some kind of pneumatic sheath.  
  
"Your LMG, sir." The doctor replied--and the torch lit up in a shower of golden sparks as they rained on the cold, paved floor. "You know, the one that uses the Mauser cartridges?"  
  
"That old ZB vz30 I got laying around?" he yawned. "I guess it's okay. I wouldn't know, since I never used it much."  
  
"Well, it's been collecting dust ever since you got it way back when." The doctor noted. "I figured you should use it, since you've got a whole ton of 7.92 rounds, taking up shelf space in the armory."  
  
"I would have preferred an FN MAG, like what the IDF are using." He yawned. "But it looks like I'm stuck with it, right?"  
  
"Correct." The plastic capped head bobbed barely through a shower of sparks. "The machinists have already modified the ZB specifically for your arm, and vise versa."  
  
"So what do I need the blade for?" he rolled his eyes. Though he could use one with practiced ease of a swordsman, he was never a big fan of blades.  
  
"So you're not stuck up shit creek without a paddle of some kind." The doctor replied over the sizzle of the torch. "I understood you did a little fencing way back when."  
  
"I'd rather stick with my kukri." He shook his head. "Go talk to Shia about fencing. He does it more than I."  
  
"I think I might, actually." The doctor said.  
  
"How's." he yawned, "Galil's patchwork coming along?"  
  
"Ah--your brother!" the doctor chuckled. "He's making great progress in recovery. Our surgical team has just finished bolting in the last-- 'prosthetic'--if you call it that. And the immunosuppressant drugs should prevent rejection of the limbs, just in case."  
  
"I gave Bonnet some shit over that rock-em, sock-em robot too." His words slurred in a tired stupor.  
  
"Glad you did." The doctor affirmed. "Who knows what else he'll bring if you didn't."  
  
"Exactly.!"  
  
"Major Drazen!" a man of his called over the so-very distant sounds of his hurried footsteps. "Major Drazen!"  
  
"What.?" he moaned in a tired drawl. The underling darted from out of the nearby corridor; the hollow steps ceasing instantly the soldier approached the operating table. Both boots were pressed together as the man's fingertips graced the brow in a salute. Uzi saluted weakly. "You're contaminating my operating room!"  
  
"Not that there's much of it anyway." he was sure the soldier said it under-breath. It was true, since the Grinder's operating ward had yet to be one. Moist cement underfoot was a cesspool for germs, shifting and twinkling in the intense light from the large halogen lamps dangling on the trusses.  
  
"I'm going to let that slide." He yawned. "Now. what do you want?"  
  
"There's been another bombing in Tel Aviv!" the man said. "At a nightclub, by the coast!"  
  
Through his motion-sickened drowsiness, he could just barely feel the blood quicken in his body. And he could just barely hear the granules of hemostat shift as the good doctor scooped up a handful nearby.  
  
"*Dreck*!" he growled. "How many are dead?"  
  
"At last count, 32." The soldier continued. "Most of them are Arabs. The air traffic the radio's been picking up seems to be originating from the West Bank and Gaza."  
  
"So. what do you want to do about it?" he yawned.  
  
The man looked at him quizzically.  
  
"Sir.?"  
  
"You heard me, Sergeant!" he exclaimed. "I can't do anything till the doctor over here sews me up, and I have to wait for the anesthetic to wear off. Until I sober up, I'm placing Shia in command."  
  
"Are you sure that's a good idea, Sir?" the soldier asked uncertainly. For good reason too, since the button man nearly leveled a refugee camp after a rocket shower in the Negev Desert, courtesy of Al-Aqsa Martyrs Brigade. "He is a wild man. Nearly took out half of the camp after a sweep."  
  
"All the more reason why Muslims and degenerates alike should fear us." He snickered. "Even Mr. *Putz*, for that matter! If they want to terrorize our people so badly, they too must endure the same, fair treatment. Turnabout is fair play, after all."  
  
"Been reading the Talmud recently, Sir?" the soldier asked.  
  
"What difference do those old parchments make?" he frowned. "That was then, this is now, Sergeant. I think Rabbi Kahane makes a hell of a lot more sense than those lambskins."  
  
"To each his own."  
  
"Exactly." He nodded. "If Shia isn't busy with his ulcers or his lover-lump, get him on the line and wait for his orders. I'll be recovering in my quarters in case you need me *so* badly."  
  
"Sir!" the man clicked his heels as he spun around professionally, walking briskly into the shadows of the adjoining hall. The steps of his boots were a decrescendo, eventually pulled under by droning buzz of the lamps above.  
  
He yawned. "Aw. *shtup*."  
  
"My thoughts exactly, Sir." The medic's swathed face lit up brilliantly with another golden shower of sparks. His teeth pressed together as he felt one of those golden needles fall onto his chest, burning and tingling on his scarred skin as it burnt out, followed by more.  
  
"I told you to wear a shirt, Sir." The doctor said indifferently.  
  
***  
  
"All right." said the secret agent woman, as her tanned fingers worked the card smoothly through the reader. The door handle twisted flawlessly as that little light blinked green, and the blonde pushed the solid door open effortlessly. "Room 402; this is your room."  
  
Tara felt the blonde's scratchy clothes rub at her skin as she brushed past her. But it was soon forgotten as her lips beamed sheer delight at their quarters. The room was decorated lavishly with the rich warm, colors of the Mediterranean. The carpet was colored in a deep shade of orange, with lighter shades of the color painted on the walls. The curtains, deep crimson juxtaposed with white, offset the black accents of the furniture.  
  
Her bag seemed to fly itself through the air from her fingers, and it bounced on the plush bedspread for a moment. She joined her stuffed carry- on as she hopped onto the cushy bed with a silly laugh.  
  
"Ah. warm!" she giggled.  
  
"The beauty of staying by the equator." Her boyfriend noted. "I just hope we can actually enjoy it."  
  
"Don't get too comfortable, Yune." That killjoy of a blonde said flatly. "The work begins as soon as the others get here.  
  
"Since you'll be overseeing the team's operations, you'll need a link- up with them and us." Tara frowned as the woman gestured to the laptop computer on the table. "There's the computer, as you can see. From there, you have direct access to the Mossad's network and databases with a secure link. Use it to contact me if you have any questions."  
  
"Internet access?" the Asian asked.  
  
"Of course."  
  
"How can I contact our 'able element'?"  
  
"We can't seem to figure out the encryption protocol on Kim's PDA over the airwaves, but we've programmed a card that should override the cipher directly. It's waiting for her at her dead drop in Cairo."  
  
"So she's in dark territory till she gets it, right?"  
  
"Essentially, yes."  
  
"What about Wade?" he asked. "Isn't he in on this?"  
  
"No." that blonde hair shook as if it belonged to a shaggy dog. "Your Department of State has been harassing my government over it. They said they'll personally kill the operations if they even suspect anything's being kept from them."  
  
"Have to have their hands in everyone's cookie jar, don't they." Yune said rhetorically. "Can't they just live and let live?"  
  
"Apparently not." Said the woman as she took a glance at her watch. "Though this kind of international relations do demand tact and diplomacy. You can't jeopardize it with an unknown group in the private sector. But humdrum practices aside, you should hear from Kim around midnight tonight. Until then, enjoy what you can of the evening."  
  
The blonde turned their backs to them indifferently as her hips rolled for the open door. A thick lock of that blonde hair gave them a single wave goodbye just as Ariel turned the corner, nearly catching the strands in the frame as the door quietly clicked shut.  
  
She rolled her eyes as she breathed out an exasperated growl. "What's with that woman?" she said to no one. "Does she have a stick up her ass or something?"  
  
"Who knows?" She felt the springs underneath sink and shift as Yune took a seat beside her. She sat up just as the springs stopped. "Maybe she had a bad childhood or something. Not that it matters to us."  
  
The small duffel in his hand fell to the lush carpet in a heap, and he coolly strolled over to the bed. Her heart accelerated gradually as she lost herself in that dark, longing gaze of his. She felt it stop, and her body shift on the mattress when the Korean took a seat close beside. He cupped his hand over her kneecap.  
  
"I see only one bed in here." She grinned. "King sized for two."  
  
"Sorry T." he squeezed her knee gently. "But I'm having a rollaway bed brought up for me."  
  
Her grin dropped, and the corners inched her lips into a frown. "Why?" she sat up.  
  
"Much as I'd like to. you know." He shrugged. "I can't. I don't want to do something I'd regret."  
  
"Loving me.? The woman you love?" she gazed at him shyly with puppy eyes. "Why'd you regret that?"  
  
"It's sin, T." He said. "Like Christ, we're dedicated to the Lord's higher calling."  
  
"Right." she looked away, and sighed.  
  
"You're a good woman, T." he smiled sincerely, from the heart. She could see it in his sparkling eyes. "I'm sorry."  
  
"So very hard being good."  
  
"I know." He nodded. "Not that fair for us, is it?"  
  
"Yune?" She smirked weakly, and she laid herself flat on the bed. She gazed blankly at the plastered ceiling. Her body bounced as the Asian back-flopped onto the bed nearby. The bedspread underneath tugged at her as Yune shifted to his side.  
  
"Yeah, T?"  
  
".Kiss me." She said quietly. "Just one time."  
  
"Okay." he smiled brilliantly.  
  
Time seemed to stop at that very moment, when their lips touched each other intimately, quickly. Haggard breath came between them as Yune brought her closer.  
  
"Make a wish." She grinned.  
  
***  
  
"I WISH WE HAD AN ELECTRIC BLANKET, KP!" Ron yelled at the top of his lungs, holding the flaps of his windbreaker in a death vice.  
  
"Huh!" his Rufus-sickle squeaked out from his frosty burrow in his cargo shorts. "Me. TOO!"  
  
Deserts; how he hated deserts. They were such odd, expansive locals. How could anything like the outskirts of the Sahara, such as Cairo and the rest of the Nile Delta, be so warm and toasty during the day and cold as Pluto when the sun greeted the other side of the globe? He'd never understand it.  
  
"I told you to bring something heavier!" that redhead stood smug before him, unwavering in the sheer cold of the CAI rental lot, sporting the latest in Club Banana sweat jackets. "But no! You just had to bring the thinnest coat ever made. How many times did you tell Rufus that cold and naked don't mix?"  
  
He frowned. "I'm not naked!"  
  
"No, but you might as well be.!" she yawned. ".Come on, now. We got to find our dead drop."  
  
"Do you think you think they have blankets?" his numbed lips cracked a weak smile.  
  
"We'll never know if we can't find it." He saw those green eyes roll, just before the auburn turned away. "Help me find it, if you don't want to walk freeze out here."  
  
"Right." He shook off the freeze for a split second as he nodded. His frosty eyes blinked. "So. what are we looking for? It better not be a Skoda like last time!"  
  
"A European Ford," she explained, "white. With custom license plate: PROD214."  
  
"Where do we start looking?" he batted the frost off his eyes. "This lot's huge!"  
  
"Don't worry." The reddish mane shifted from side to side, her head sweeping the lot slowly like a security camera. "I'll find it--"  
  
Something honked out nearby, a loud and noisy blare like someone sat upon the higher octaves of ivories of a pipe organ. Again and again, like a car alarm that honked its horn of conflicting notes. Out of the corner of his drying eyes, something flickered in the distance like a signal, on and off in sync with the horn, just beyond the reach of the yellow circle of the lamppost nearby.  
  
"Anyone over there?" the girl called past the reach of the lamp, and tentatively her feet moved in front of each other as her hands clenched tightly. "Anyone?"  
  
"K-Kim?" he forced the words past his chattering jaw. "W-what are you. d-doing?"  
  
"What do you think?" the girl said flatly, shooting him a look before she took her steps into the warm, yellow circle. where she kept going till the shadows on the other side embraced her. His eyes squinted, and he could just make out the faintest of movement by the flickering lights.  
  
*What is she doing? *  
  
The car alarm died swiftly. The bright headlights deepened into a hue of dim yellow before the night choked it, and its silence ceased the manic-depressive fanfare.  
  
"Ron!" the auburn called. "You big baby!"  
  
A sudden spark of heat flushed through him quickly, burning out as quickly as it came.  
  
"What?" he shrugged through his tight jacket.  
  
"Get over here!" he could just barely see the gesture of her arm through the street lamp. "It's just a car alarm."  
  
The corners of his chapped lips pulled into a frown as he shuffled over to the car. "D-don't think I didn't hear that b-baby comment!" he growled. "I heard it!"  
  
"I found our ride." Kimberly said, giving the white hood a simple pat of the hand. "PROD214, conveniently 20 yards away from the terminal."  
  
"Got the keys?"  
  
"But of course." She dipped her fingers into her jacket pocket; he could hear the objects clatter in her grasp as she brought it out. A frigid desert breeze ran through his hair, and he held the windbreaker closer as the girl cruelly took her sweet time as she strolled for the driver's side door. "Feeling cold, Ronald?" she smirked playfully.  
  
"Don't screw with me, KP!" the chattering silenced as he brought his teeth together. "My little buddy's probably frozen by now!"  
  
"You're no fun." the driver's door creaked open as he hurried for the other side. He nearly tore the door clean off its hinges as he scrambled his way inside. The small car shook as he slammed the door.  
  
Kim was looking at him with teasing patience. One arm rested on the steering wheel by the elbow, while the other rested on the gearshift by the palm of her hand. On her face wore a sarcastic, sadistic smirk.  
  
"So Ron?" she said bluntly. "Are you going to forget your heavier jackets next time?"  
  
"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, KIM!" he exclaimed. "NO!!"  
  
"Good answer." She placed her back square against the seat. The key scraped the pins as she pushed the piece into the ignition, and the engine fired up with a quiet roar. Warming air blew at him, and his shivering eased to a stop as he felt the warm blood flow back into his face.  
  
"Hmm. boy!" his buddy crawled into his lap, and he laid back into his body as if he were at the beach, bathing in the sunlight. "He--better- better!"  
  
"You got that right, old buddy!" he wiggled serenely in the chair.  
  
"What's this?" Kim asked, and he sat back up as his tired eyes caught her hand taking something from the center console. She twisted it in her grasp as her eyes ran over it in a curious gaze.  
  
"It looks like a memory card." He noted. "The kind you plug into a laptop or something."  
  
Her other hand took it in its pinch, while the former fished into a pocket of her cargos. A larger, flat object jerked and wiggled around as her hand tried to yank it free.  
  
"Or like. a--PDA." She grunted--and the device in question came free as if by command, or mere mention of the abbreviation. "I knew this looked familiar! Wondering if the Barbie-doll lost it too."  
  
The card slipped into the port smoothly, the plastics clicking and tapping at she pushed it firmly into place. She thumbed the little red button, and the Kimmunicator flickered on in a haze of static. On the little LCD, typed out a message.  
  
"Duh!" she glared. "Of course I want to upload!"  
  
A thin, blue line inched its way across the screen, and the PDA whirred and clicked just as if it were a desktop PC. Her fingers drummed on the steering wheel, her lips pulling into a sneer as the line took its time reaching for the other side of the screen.  
  
"Remind me to get more RAM." She yawned.  
  
"Okay." He nodded. "Kim?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Get more RAM." He smirked, and he felt his little buddy writhe with goofy laughter on his lap.  
  
"Cute." her eyes rolled--and the blue line vanished as it reached the end of the window. Her personal monogram flashed on-screen for only a moment, it's green and yellow dashes fading into a dark shade of gray. Something typed out on the screen, the cursor dropping yellow characters behind wherever it went. "Hmm."  
  
"Hmm. what?" he asked.  
  
"Check the glove box." The auburn replied. "It says there should be a map of our destination."  
  
"Right." His waist crumpled as he reached for the box. The rat below scampered down his legs, and there was a small *thump* as he dropped to the floor. The box's door clunked open, and his eyes could just make out the word map on the folded piece of paper in the dim light.  
  
The paper rattled as he unfolded the flat country of Israel, printed and colored in the typical colors of a road map. A rather large, scribbled circle of red encompassed the city of Tel Aviv. Just below it was scribbled a small message in the same shade of red.  
  
"Dan Panorama Tel Aviv." He read. "Charles Clore Park."  
  
"Right." The auburn nodded. Her leg shifted in the seat, and there was a small *clomp* and a quiet squeal of air just before she wrenched the shifter down a few notches on the console. "Ready to go, Ron?"  
  
"As always, KP--"  
  
"Well, I'm not!" his heart jumped at a whinny, strident voice from all around.  
  
"Did. you say something, Kim?" the cabin seemed to grow, expanding its corners, as he pressed deeper into the leather seat.  
  
"No." her mane moved all around, barely able to keep the form as she glanced all around. "Did you?"  
  
"Well I have a lot to say!" that voice whined, the timbre that of an older woman. Yet it was so strange, so familiar as if he heard it from somewhere before. But he didn't know when. "I've been sitting here all day! And my engine block is getting sick of these desert conditions! I'll be lucky if the sandstorm yesterday didn't put a scratch on my paintjob!"  
  
The equalizer's bars on the readout jumped at every word, the gray stacks reaching high levels at times of a stressed syllable or exclamation.  
  
*Wait! * He shook his head. *I saw this before. *  
  
Kim lowered her head closer to the stereo; her round features a lime green in the readout's glow.  
  
"Sadie.?" she said carefully.  
  
"Sadie?" his brow perked. "As in Dr. Freeman's S-A-D-I system, Sadie?"  
  
"The one and only!" the stacks shifted in height at the speech. "What? You didn't think I was a 'ghost car', did you?"  
  
"Well--uh."  
  
"At least you didn't scream bloody murder like our first meeting." The AI chuckled. "I'll give you some credit for that."  
  
The whole interior began to emit a strange light, a glow of an eerie pale. The light consumed everything; even the exterior and the very seats they sat on shinned like a full moon. The shape of the cabin began to twist and morph, expanding and contracting, squaring out into its true shapes just before the glow vanished in the night.  
  
"Ah." the exhale sounded like static on the speakers, "to think I started life as a mere Jeep."  
  
"I hope optic camouflage isn't your only trick." The girl replied. "But what are you doing here?"  
  
"Some blonde called up the doctor two days ago." The SUV replied. "She said that you guys were going on a tough mission, and she figured you guys could use a serious lift."  
  
"Self-Automated-Driving-Intelligence." She smirked. "One good call Hershel made all day."  
  
"Is that her name?" the AI asked. "I was wondering who that bitchy girl was. Not that it matters to me, anyhow.  
  
"Just be prepared to deal with her more often," she warned, "now that you're here."  
  
"Right." The vehicle agreed. "But is everyone ready to go? My carburetor's sick of the sand!"  
  
"You and I both, my friend." She smiled. "To the Dan Panorama Tel Aviv, Sadie, in."  
  
"Tel Aviv?"  
  
"Yeah." The pads of her fingers ran over her crown in embarrassment. "At Charles Clore Park."  
  
"Sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride." The SUV said enthusiastically, bits of sand and gravel crunched underneath as the car rolled smoothly away. "Just let good old Sadie do the driving. And Ron?"  
  
"Yeah." He took the vehicle's advice to heart, leaning back comfortably in his seat.  
  
"There will be no Slurpsters in these cup holders!"  
  
"Pf--" he frowned. "Man.!"  
  
"Not her fault that you spilled it everywhere after Drakken's apprehension." Kim slouched in the driver's seat. "Now come on. Let's go." 


	11. Chapter 11

11  
  
The F-15 was no more; bits and pieces of jet were strewn across the desert's shifting sands like rocks. The warm, sandy colors of the plane were smoked to a crispy brown, a charred black almost. He could barely make out the points of the blue star, scorched considerably beyond recognition. Vapors of whatnot steamed into the blue sky in a tower of black, pluming smoke; the sun itself moving and shifting through the heated, smoky veil in an angry red.  
  
*Amazing what a SAM can do! *  
  
Shia was in awe at the sheer destruction that had befallen the plane, the very destruction he had ensued personally. He could still see wisps of the vapor trail the missile had left. Over a 30-million dollar plane, which took months to build was gone--charred toast in an instant. The low flyer came at the convoy, easing its speed off a tic as if to drop a payload. But a fiery explosion quickly burst from the afterburners, small at first, before the swirling, burning clouds overtook the jet completely, all at the simple twist of the key and a push of a button.  
  
"Sergeant!" he called out loudly. The man jogged over to him with a wave of his hand, jumping the twisted hurdles of scrap on his way. A small cloud of dust kicked up, quickly dissipating into the warm air in a plume. "What have we got here?"  
  
"An F-15, Sir!" the man quickly said. "One of the IAF fighters, if I'm not mistaken."  
  
"I can see that." He rolled his eyes. "But what's it doing out in the Negev? A bombing run?"  
  
"Couldn't tell you, Sir." The soldier shook his head. "Possibly reconnaissance, since we can't find much ordinance anywhere. But even that's speculation."  
  
"No matter." He nodded. "I'm calling headquarters, and asking for assistance. I want every piece of this plane brought to the Organ Grinder facility, every scrap that's salvageable. No one goes near it unless I say."  
  
"What about Commander Drazen?" the soldier asked.  
  
"I'll talk to him myself," he replied, "now get moving. I want our convoy back at the base by sunset!"  
  
"Sir!"  
  
Sand and pebble ground together as the man took off for the larger scraps of the plane, but he turned his head away at a gentle vibration at his pocket. The vibration found a voice, a sweet melodic digitized voice as he wrenched out his cell phone from his vest. The desert breeze hushed the music as his thumb pushed at the button.  
  
"This is Bonnet." He pressed the thin device to his ear.  
  
"Shia?" that quite, warming voice of his beloved whispered into his head. A voice he thought had long departed him ever since he left for the old coot's island villa. "Is that really you, or your troublesome employer?"  
  
"Aw Robin," a warm, gentle smile stretched across his face, "I told you not to call me on the job. And besides which, don't let the Major catch you calling him that. I don't think you'll survive the meeting."  
  
"Bah!" she dismissed. "I'll take my chances with that nut. But are you coming home tonight?"  
  
"I don't really know right now." His smile dropped to a flat line. "Something big just happened, and I don't know what the heck Uzi's going to have the outfit do about it."  
  
"You could always just blow him off, dear." She said simply. "Come on, now. I'll make us a nice dinner.!"  
  
"What are you making?" his lips pulled into a smile again.  
  
"A nice. juicy. steak." She said playfully, egging his belly to disobey. "Kosher meat, of course."  
  
"Can't have blood, can we?"  
  
"No sir." She agreed. "Just like the Torah said. But do you think you can make it home tonight?"  
  
"I don't know yet." He ground the toe of his boot in the dirt, twisting back and forth at the ankle. "But I'll see if we can work something out."  
  
"O.k" her sighing breath sounded like flurry of static in the earpiece. "Just promise me you'll be back sometime this week? I miss you."  
  
"I've been gone for less than two weeks, Rob." He noted casually.  
  
"Hmm.!" her voice was an annoyed growl for a split-second. "That's not my point, is it?"  
  
"Nope." He touched a hand to the belly of his vest, lips pressing tightly together as a sudden pain sharply poked at him. "Hmm--sure isn't! But I got to go now, okay?"  
  
"Okay." She said. "Talk to you later, sweetie. And be careful."  
  
"I will." he coughed. "Take care!"  
  
"Bye." There was a small *click* in his ear, and the phone went silent. He thumbed the button blindly, and he stuffed it into his pocket habitually as he scrambled for his medicine. The ulcer, the bane of his life was always egging him, poking at him at inopportune moments of his day, which the body nearly keeled over from every time.  
  
*The bullet.! Uzi.! One of them will be the end of me, I swear! *  
  
***  
  
Something was up with Ron. Just they way he sat in the passenger seat, his back completely flat against the seat with his legs pressed together and his arms folded tightly across his chest. He hadn't spoken a word since sunrise--a breathtaking spectacle, with creamy peach crawling across the sky as the orange ball crept over the arid, undulating horizon-- and he hadn't complained about his black hole for a stomach since they left the Nile Delta.  
  
"So there I was," Sadie, the team chatterbox, continued with her tall tales of her exploits and journeys, "in the Detroit Auto Show, sitting in my booth, looking pretty while Freeman lived up the fame and glory--*as* usual! Did anyone pay attention to me--the whole reason why we were there-- even for a split-second? I think not!"  
  
"That sounds like it sucks." She replied, but she never took her eyes of Ron. They way he sat like a stone, quiet and unmoving; it really unnerved her.  
  
"I guess it wasn't too bad." The AI continued. "I did happen to meet this really nice car named KITT, sitting in the next booth. He might have been a Pontiac or a Honda, but I couldn't tell from the angle I was parked in. But boy--let me tell you, that posh New York accent of his could really put my RPM on cloud 9000."  
  
"Does Sadie have a crush?" she smirked.  
  
"Hey--he--hey!" Rufus' bucked teeth shined brightly in the mid- morning sun, doing a little dance on the center armrest. "Sadie got a boyfriend--Sadie got a boyfriend! Yep--yep!"  
  
"Watch it, pipsqueak!" the bars on the readout's equalizers reached their peaks. "You could throw my transmission out of gear!"  
  
"Hmm!!" The rodent stuck his whiskers in the air, twitching them haughtily over his frowning lips.  
  
"Sensitive aren't we?" she smirked.  
  
"." The bars flat-lined.  
  
"I'll take that as a yes."  
  
"I'm not in real love, Kim." The car spoke. "Nor could I experience it for myself."  
  
"That's how it works for you, doesn't it?" she slouched. "Sad, isn't it?"  
  
"I wouldn't know sad, even if I was." The AI explained. "The infatuation I experience is nothing more than fluctuations in my Neural Processing Unit. Nothing more than an anomaly in otherwise a mathematical harmony and procession, triggering the onset of an emotion just like would the chemical precursors in your brain."  
  
".Tragic."  
  
"I'll take your word for it, Kim."  
  
*BEEP--BEEP--BEEP--EEP. *  
  
"Hold on a sec." she made a sharp sigh as she reached for the Kimmunicator, rattling carelessly in the driver's side cup holder with that ZIP disk she found in Prague. "Wade-master calling."  
  
"That's okay." The vehicle said. "Just don't drop it on the floor. Doc had the rugs cleaned recently."  
  
"Right." Her screen flicked on in a veil of static instantly. The snow flashed and flickered, disappearing into a blue-gray painted room with more monitors than she could have counted. "What you got, Wade?"  
  
"Nothing much." The portly kid smiled. "I just got the Kimmunicator satellite in Israeli airspace, with a little help from Barbie-doll of course."  
  
"Of course." she rolled her eyes. "Can live with her, can't kill her either."  
  
"I know." The boy nodded. "But my hands are still tied over here, courtesy of our 'friends' at the State Department. So essentially, I'm here for morale support."  
  
"Anything else you *can* do?" she asked.  
  
"Well." the boy scratched his double chin, "anything you'd like me to run on Google?"  
  
"Oh please!" the vehicle exclaimed. "Google!? Don't make my gas flow back up!"  
  
"I see you made it to your dead drop without incident." The Webmaster yawned.  
  
"Yeah." She nodded. "We're a few good hours away from the border at the Gaza Strip."  
  
"Good." He nodded. "And you should know that you now have a direct link-up with Yune's laptop computer at the Tel Aviv hotel, via the Kimmunicator. Feel free to contact him anytime, and vise-versa, as long as you have the PDA with you at all times."  
  
"How'd they get past our encryptions?"  
  
"It's all in the card." A tired frown pulled his thin lips. "And Kim?"  
  
"Yeah Wade?"  
  
"Tell Barbie-doll to pull her hackers off my network!" he yelled.  
  
"Oh." she glanced away, "eh--yeah!"  
  
"Good." He yawned. "Call me back later. when the sun shows its face around these parts."  
  
"Gotcha." She thumbed the button--and Wade disappeared in a veil of flickering snow, just before the tiny LCD went black. The PDA danced its jerky, rattling tango with the disk as she dropped it back in the cup holder. "Man--I hate time differences."  
  
"Kim," the vehicle said calmly, "there's something I've got to tell you about."  
  
"Go ahead." Leather squelched beneath as she sat back up. "I'm used to things going wrong."  
  
"A few months prior to this, some hacker creep broke into our computer systems and stole the blueprints for the SADI system." The SUV explained. "We didn't think too much of it when we called the cops, but there's been rumors circulating around the Middle East over a SADI knockoff."  
  
"And given our situation," she smirked, "this was perfect timing."  
  
"Exactly!" the SUV replied. "Mutually Beneficial. I'll help you with your transportation problems, and you can help me search for my little black market item."  
  
"Deal." She nodded.  
  
"All right." Through the bright sun, Kim could see the every inch of the 4X4 resonate that shifting, pale glow. "Look like you're busy, Kim. I'm shifting paintjobs for something more appropriate."  
  
Her fingers wrapped around the glowing steering wheel at three-and- nine, and she felt the sole of her shoe touch on the floor-mounted pedal.  
  
"Right." Her arms moved easily to the vehicle's movements.  
  
"Buckle up, you two." Sadie warned firmly. "Because this is going to be a bumpy ride."  
  
***  
  
The empty bottle of scopolamine hydrobromide let out a hollow clatter on the floor, rolling in a skewed semi-circle before the bottle came to a halt. Uzi felt like his head was swimming again, and the tablets he downed didn't seem to be acting at all. The Grinder's medical staff was fresh out of motion sickness medication. And the recent news of his brother's passing didn't help his mood either.  
  
"I don't understand." the stainless steel walls of his quarters were moving and shifting oddly all around, the light playing off them in strange reflections, "he was doing so well. *uh*. in recovery! What the fuck went wrong!?"  
  
The stubble scraped at the pads of his fingertips, as they ran slickly across the smoothed shrapnel stuck in his head. The construction of the medical wing had just been underway a few hours ago, and a faint smirk crawled across his gullied face as he had the machinists sharpen his brand new weapon.  
  
--The multi-line phone let out a piercing bleat, its inner workings clicking and clacking. There was a quiet whir and small crackle of static, as if a thin piece of tape was being drawn over a roller of some kind during a recording.  
  
"I know you're there, Uzi.!" a voice spoke in his native language, a familiar voice like his own, yet with a strange *machine*-like quality. "I think those quarters of yours are oh-so stylish, and I think your head will look really good impaled upon that ceiling fan you've got!"  
  
His heart quickened in record time, and he felt like his breakfast was working up his neck all on its own.  
  
"Oh." he groaned. "Who--who is this?"  
  
"Do you like robots, U?" he heard fluctuations in the static, as if the man was snickering at the other end. "I know you love robots! Especially how one nearly took your guts out and draped them on curtain rods like."  
  
The spinning world took its time as his eyes took a lap in his head. "Curtains.?" he yawned.  
  
"Uh. yeah!" the machine agreed--and the phone clicked, and the dial tone hummed like a flat line on an EKG.  
  
He stumbled to his wobbly feet, nearly kissing the hard carpet as his head warbled back on his shoulders. Slowly, he reached for the phone on his end table, fingers stumbling on the case in a dizzied stupor. The hand fell on its thumb side, crushing the call-return button into the case--  
  
--And there was pulsating beeping from the other side of his door, a pulsating bleat that lasted approximately two seconds before a steady pause. And then it bleated again. and again.  
  
*Like the POS is right at my door! *  
  
The end table's drawer scraped open, and his hand tumbled off of the tabletop and into the drawer. Faintly, he could feel the firm, plastic grip of his Desert Eagle underneath his shaky hand. His thumb pried under the gun, inclining it up, the web at his saddle joint pressing against the back as his fingers weakly wrapped around the grip at the front.  
  
The drawer banged and rattled on the floor as he wrenched his hand away from the table, and he limped for the door on wobbly legs. The muzzle bobbed and weaved in his grasp, as the door steadied in his sight. His neck firmed, and he pushed his creeping breakfast back down as he reached from the door, metal fingers gracing the shiny knob--  
  
--*Bang! *--  
  
--And his butt met the cold floor as the door smacked him silly on its arc. His pistol skittered away, rubbing the fibers of the carpet the wrong way as it scraped out of his reach. The door let out another *bang* when it met the adjacent wall, and towering before him stood a creature the likes he had never seen.  
  
His face! The creature had *his* face--a burnt, scarred face that made his own visage look like paper cuts. The jaw was not his own, but a squared piece of metal, flared at the edges, fashioned to resemble one yet with a tempering line right where the metal angled toward its toothy mouth. The horrible, scarred body had no arm on the right of flesh, but of metal. It was like a claw he had seen in the scrap yards, smaller, and welded straight onto the shoulder. And wheels! As YHWH as his witness, the thing had wheels--tank tracks at the very bottom of his waist!  
  
For one of the few times in his life, he screamed!  
  
And the creature let out a scream, bellowing over his own in a terrible, blaring yelp. That tongue was pinned down set in the jaw, flailing and thrashing at him pointedly, the screws--*screws* keeping it in place. Saliva pooled and sloshed around uncontrollably like tidal waves on the shoreline.  
  
He screamed louder!  
  
And it screamed louder, and the tracks creaked sharply as it wheeled itself inside!  
  
"Cripes, Bro!" the being said in that machine like voice, and its hazel eyes lit up with subtle glee. "You're *so* JUMPY!"  
  
"Galil.?" he caught his breath, breathing it in deeply and letting it sit in his lungs for a bit. "What. the hell man!? The guys told me you died!"  
  
"Don't you just *LOVE* a good practical joke, Bro?" the mangled man said rhetorically. "It just makes your day so much more. better! I don't know how else to describe it!"  
  
"You call that torture a JOKE?" he yelled. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"  
  
"Ah." the thing combed its flesh hand through the thin strands of long hair- the mere testimony of that full, dark mullet he and the rest of the crew once knew--proudly, "my work here is done."  
  
"What the hell happened to you, anyway?" he shook his head vigorously, briefly. "An arson disaster at a Skynyrd concert? Or maybe you just got a little too happy with a bottle of kerosene?"  
  
"I don't know." Galil's yawn was like a digitized screech from a strangled raven.  
  
"Ugh.!" he blinked. "Some yawn you got there."  
  
"It's the voice actuator." The brother said. "Sometimes it can't get the voice right."  
  
"Not that it means a whole lot." He smirked. "People don't really want to know someone that looks like Aqua-man, sweltering on Acid for six months."  
  
The shadow of his brother cocked an eyebrow, what was salvageable of it. Fine whiskers moved up and down, waving gently in the still air at the whim of the gnarled brow.  
  
"I think I should call you Arthur from now on." He laughed.  
  
"What did you expect?" the claw angled a bit as the thing shrugged. "The quacks you got only had a damn robot to work with! Which reminds me.!"  
  
"Shia?"  
  
"Exactly!"  
  
"He should be back in a few minutes with that scrap metal I told him to get." He yawned--and his brother shrank by a couple of feet as he pushed himself back on firm legs. His bones moved back into place as he stretched completely out. "And pieces of downed plane. It's good to have you back, man. what's left of you, anyway."  
  
"Feeling's mutual." The short man yawned. "And just call me the 'tank-man' if you want."  
  
"Of course." He shrugged, and he glanced at hands the watch fastened to his wrist. "And by my watch, Shia should just be arriving with that scrap."  
  
The brother smiled with a prankster's joy. "Goodie-goodie." his twisted features pulled into a smirk. "All the better for me!"  
  
"Indeed."  
  
A pair of the four tank tracks creaked their bands backwards, the hum of the motors echoing loudly in his tiny room as Galil turned around. All four bands rolled toward him as the brother barely wheeled himself through the doorway, the carriage for his waist clanging and clattering over the door's stripping as if it were a speed bump. Carefully the mangled man turned the corner--but the sounds of his motors hummed a different tune as he unexpectedly backed up, just barely in sight through the doorway.  
  
"And Aqua-man is the worst superhero ever!" the 'tank-man' retorted, and treated him to the sound of his motors, whirring faintly down the corridor.  
  
Uzi shook his head. "*Shmuck*!" he yawned.  
  
***  
  
"Benjamin Cross!" the scarred man with his olive-clad back towards him called. The holler seemed to have resounded from every which direction in the open, cavernous room. "Welcome to the VSA headquarters: The Organ Grinder!"  
  
The grated catwalk nosily clanked underfoot as the scarred man took his first steps on, climbing up a small flight of diamond-sheet steps with large poles for banisters. Ben gazed slowly around the bright, dank grotto, with nothing to see but an array of wide, slatted catwalks that the fumes of the huge oil vats below flowed through like water. Stagnant water, it smelled like, a bittersweet stench that made him want to loose his early lunch.  
  
"Like the smell?" the scarred man's flat, dull voice numbed his ears from all around. "You'll get used to it. sometime."  
  
"Ugh.!" he coughed. "This is the whole damn facility? It looks more like a refinery!"  
  
"Because this is a refinery." The man walked on, gesturing half heartedly here and there for simple formality. "The crude oil we tap into comes into these vats, where the various oil derivatives are extracted in our own little refinery a level below. This section of the facility is the lifeblood of our force. If we didn't have it, we were pretty much finished from the get-go."  
  
"When did you get this stuff?" he asked.  
  
"A few days ago." he yawned. "When we put our newfound funds and *income* to good use. And we're currently stockpiling some ground equipment, and a whole lot of scrap material."  
  
His brow perked with interest. "Scrap metal?" he said. "What for?"  
  
"Couldn't tell you." The man shrugged. "But the Major's been stockpiling on the stuff since we got our first deposit. Word has it that he's got some new fangled project in the works, when he isn't focused on getting this base up and running."  
  
"Right." He nodded.  
  
The scarred man came to a large, heavy door, bolted to the wall by some heavy-duty hinges with a thick window the size of a small plank. A door, he typically saw, that housed such equipment ranging from small arms to chemical weapons. Not that he saw them on an everyday basis, just seen them pictured on the big screen in a movie theater. To the left, no more than an inch away from the handle, was a scanner.  
  
The man's boots clanked no more as he stepped onto hard cement, slick with some kind of dew. The boots' soles glimmered in the bright halogen lights as the liquid ran while the guy walked for the scanner. His head dipped at the neck, and the large, black rests nearly swallowed his head as the machine chirped and bleated--  
  
--And something clunked, something large and heavy, that caused the impassive door to jerk a bit loose.  
  
"Access granted," the neck made a little *pop* as the olive man angled it a bit, "as usual. Follow me please, and stick close."  
  
He held his SMG close to his side at the ready, and he pushed a lump back down his neck as he followed the man through.  
  
"What happens if I don't?" he asked--and two men, very *large* men swooped in on him from the flanks. The tanned, brushy faces were expressionless, and the jaw on the left one moved in a circular fashion, a cross-bite like a cow munching on its own cud.  
  
"That happens." The scarred man turned his head a bit to the back, and he could barely make out a sliver of scar tissue that gnarled the outskirts of his cheek.  
  
The cud-chewing thug held out his hand expectantly, like a schoolyard bully awaiting his money.  
  
"Gun, please." The chewer mumbled--nearly moaning it out.  
  
"Do what he says." The other joined in. "New recruits can't be armed in here."  
  
"Uh. right." He pushed the sling up and over his head, and it slid down to the crook of his arm as the UZI tapped onto the hard floor. The chewer squeezed the sling tightly in his large hand, and he worked it over his head.  
  
"Don't worry." The scarred man said flatly, as reassuring as it got. "You'll get it back."  
  
The men moved back, into their foldout chairs that flanked the door, their bull-pup rifles at a lax ready on their forearms. The man walked on leisurely on as Ben had just been able to move his legs again.  
  
"Man.!" his exhale was like a breeze. "With this entourage, you guys look like you're preparing for war."  
  
The man brought his boots together, tightly together as he turned his head back a bit.  
  
"What did you say?" his voice dropped to a bulldog's growl.  
  
His eyes glanced nervously around the corridor, "War.?"  
  
The back of the man's dark head became a blur, his boots screeching on the moist pavement as he spun quickly around--and Ben's blood dropped a few degrees as his eyes ran over that scar. The gnarled mounds of tightly wrinkled flesh consumed half of his face, his lips, nose and brow. Yet the dark, unmoving eyes were untouched by the flames, beaming the dark emptiness of the darkened heart with such power that made his nearly stop.  
  
"Say that one more time, son." The man's twisted lips twitched.  
  
"War." he swallowed.  
  
"For well over two thousand years, we have been at war." The man leaned into his face, and he could feel the hot, angered breath wisp over his features. "We've been hated, murdered, butchered, toasted, gassed, and nearly have been slaughtered five different times since '48! And I don't know what planet you, or the rest of those good-for-nothing hypocrites have been on, but we're still at war!"  
  
"But--I wouldn't go that far--!" he leaned back and away.  
  
"I used to think that same way too." His cold, dead eyes narrowed. "I thought that dialogue and diplomacy could solve anything. I even made friends with one litter of them. But look where that got me. and my friends."  
  
That scar was like a memorial to the man, he thought, to all the men and women lost in the on-going war that had been raging in his head since that mine skidded under his convoy. There was no solace, no closure for them; they who are about to die.  
  
"Our way of life has been fighting since YHWH had given us this slab of dirt, Ben." The man mumbled. "So don't lecture anyone here on war. Got it?"  
  
"Uh." he blinked before he found his neck muscles for a nod. "Yes sir!"  
  
"Good." The man angled his neck condescendingly. "Now. be a good soldier, and let's continue our tour, shall we?"  
  
His back went stiffer than a board as he stood up straight. "Yes sir!"  
  
"Good." The man shunned him, his back facing him again. "Let's go."  
  
***  
  
Shia let out a deep sigh of relief, and the gentle cold soaked through his BDU as he laid his back against the Hummer. Somehow, he had finally lost that freak of nature somewhere in networked maze of corridors and tunnels, leaving its giant claw snatching at his dust as it wheeled for him on its tracks. The screaming--oh how it made his very balls recede into his body, inch by inch at the sound of squawking, rabid penguin.  
  
"Watch the paintjob!" A gruff, growling voice barked. "The guys slapped it on yesterday."  
  
"Oh--!" with a grunt, he sat up, feeling his backbones bend at the disks into a hunch. "Sorry about that, Matt."  
  
"Can you blame me?" Matt said rhetorically. "Not my fault I want to cruise around with a perfect shine, and not with this huge raw spot where the monogram should be."  
  
"Of course." He closed his eyes, and his eyes moved a back into the sockets a little as his fingers drew over his eyelids. "The logo is everything."  
  
"Don't say, 'of course'!" the voice sternly said. "Say, 'you're damn right'."  
  
"You're damn right." he yawned, and he buried his crown into the palm of his hands.  
  
"What's up with you, all of the sudden?" Matt asked. "Not your usual, upbeat self today. That bullet giving you trouble again?"  
  
"Nah." he shook his head. "Not much trouble. I'm a little bummed."  
  
"From what?"  
  
"The fact that the Major's having everyone pulling the graveyard shift tonight." He weakly explained. "Over that stupid plane I shot down. Our teams discovered some kind of payload while we were salvaging for parts, and Uzi's worried about retaliation for the missile attack."  
  
"Anything in particular?" Matt asked.  
  
"Every available person manning the flak guns and the new missile batteries, making sure that the military doesn't try anything else." He mumbled grudgingly. "Killing my dinner plans in the frigging process!"  
  
"Robin?"  
  
"Yep." He frowned. "Going to have special night too. No work, no band practices! It's just her and me for the whole night. Even my band got a gig at a swank hotel up in Tel Aviv this evening. But can I play my hunk of brass? No--*hell* no!"  
  
"Charming." Matt affirmed. "Kind of like me Sadie. sometime."  
  
A teasing smirk slowly crawled across his lips. He nearly found himself flat on the floor, chin first as he turned around and pushed himself to his feet simultaneously. He pushed his arms through the sheathed window, letting them drape inside the cabin by the elbow as he tiredly gazed at the bright green light in the center console.  
  
"What are talking about?" he smirked weakly. "You never even met the thing! I don't think it even knows you exist."  
  
"I put the word on the street!" the bars and lines on the readout fluctuated, jerking erratically at the sound of a stressed syllable and word. "There's a new hotrod on the road, and it's looking for love!"  
  
"More like your sister." he looked away in thought, "brother. counterpart--whatever you call it. You two are basically the same design-- "  
  
"What's my name, Shia?" the speakers vibrated with such frequency as the voice growled.  
  
"Is this a trick question?" his brow perked.  
  
"Its MAT--Shia--MAT!" the bars reached their glass ceiling, and the acute angles took the lines to the highest peaks on the readout. "Mobile Automated Turret! MAT!"  
  
"But can the rest of us call you Sadie?" his lips pressed together, and his cheeks bulged with small pockets of air as he bit back a chuckle.  
  
"Just because you guys were too damn lazy to rewrite the source codes and slapped another voice on me, doesn't make her and I the same damn thing!" Matt exclaimed. "I'm a lover; not just a wheelman!"  
  
"Not from what I understand." He shook his head. "Since you both came from the same damn codes."  
  
"Pf." Matt dismissed. "Sadie can't live like I can! She can't see past even the simplest of strange operations, just sees them as bugs or glitches in her processing power that her programmer needs to tackle. Not me--*oh* no! I embrace the fluctuations my NPU can't compute. I don't just know about them--I live them! Shall I even say. *love* them?"  
  
"Well." the curly hair atop his head shifted as he angled his head, shrugging all the while, "you just did, technically."  
  
"Well. yeah!" the Hummer agreed. "If you want to get all technical about it."  
  
"Technically," his arms dropped back onto the tip of the sheathed window, folding on each other as he went in for a lean, "you'd be talking smack out of a paratrooper bicycle if old man Senior didn't pony up the cash for an upgrade."  
  
"Don't get smart with me, boy!" the AI growled--and something whirred and buzzed nearby, like hydraulic lifts in the midst of their operations. It started from the back of the Hummer, growing a bit softer as the resonance inched its way up--and he could see a piece of cloth roll its self up.  
  
"Holy cow.!" his heart beat quickly in his ears-- --And out came a huge monster from the depths of the cabin, its hard, angled body boxy and cumbersome. That dark, glassy eye shifted its endless gaze towards him as it pointed its steely, rifled nose at him precisely. His legs became cement, pushing a thick wad back down his throat as something clacked beneath that olive, plastic skin.  
  
"BOOM!" Matt exclaimed loudly, almost proudly. "You're dead, Mr. Bonnet! They don't call me the MAT for nothing!"  
  
He nearly fell on his butt, if the feeling hadn't returned to his wobbly legs.  
  
"W--where the heck did you get that?" he stuttered as he fell back a step.  
  
"Courtesy of your friend, the Commandant." The tone fluctuated erratically. The sounds pulsated out of the speakers, as if the very car itself was laughing. "Scared the crap out of you, didn't you? And let me tell you this SWARM system is *way* better than that other stuff the old model's got! Like to see her blast me with that laser after the MK19 get through with it!"  
  
"Cripes, man.!" he breathed. "Just don't use it in here!"  
  
"Do I look like an idiot to you, kid?" the vehicle rumbled. "Of course not! Not with all those fumes that's been circulating around here! Damn oil tanks. And would you please get some one to take care of that rust on the catwalks! Patch is spreading faster than wildfire."  
  
"I'll get someone on it." He nodded, yet his eyes never left the unflinching gaze of the large barrel. There was a whirr nearby, the whispering sound a crescendo, and his blood quickened in his veins, as it seemed to sigh from all over the spacious arsenal. "Now could you-- *please*--put that thing down?"  
  
"On one condition, Shia."  
  
"What?" his eyes darted nervously around, hair erecting on the back of his neck as that whirr drew close uncomfortably. He snorted at the stench of foul, stagnant air that swirled in his nose as a gentle, warm breeze pressed into his back.  
  
"Look behind you." The machine said simply, as if nothing was wrong at all. The world turned slowly around as he moved a foot behind the other, pivoting in slow motion, eyes capturing all that he turned his back to--  
  
--Before that hideous, disgusting visage of that freak pushed into his face. The foul stench that followed it poisoned his nose while his heart pumped like it had never had pumped before. The bloodied front teeth, he could see through the scarred hair lip, became even more apparent as the thing creaked open its gaping dirty maw, drawing in air like great beast from days of yore.  
  
And everything went black as he collapsed to the floor in a fit of screaming terror, writhing on the floor like a dying mouse, faintly feeling the wet cement scratch at his face. Yet through his girly, whinny cry, he could hear the distinct voice of the Major as he curled into a tight ball, before everything went completely dark.  
  
"Ah. I *NEVER* get tired of that!" it said with an eerie, joyful strictness. "Punk!" 


	12. Chapter 12

12  
  
"Kim." Her friend breathed behind, but she paid it no attention as she stepped through her hotel room's door, pocketing the keycard in her pink flares. "The next time. we detour through Gaza. could you--PLEASE PUNCH IT!"  
  
"Aw--quit bellyaching, Ron." The flush bedspread was a welcome sight for her tired, aching back as she approached it. The pale fringes shot upward, reaching for the ceiling as she flopped onto the bed, flapping down back at the sides like lifeless wings. "At least we got to the Dan Panorama in one peace!"  
  
"Well Sadie sure as heck doesn't feel like it!" the blond capped head bobbed gently as he stumbled for the bed. "We're lucky the rounds didn't punch through her body work!"  
  
"Her engine block's having a nice cool down in the garage, Ron." Her dry eyes batted as her forearm lay upon the very bottom of her crown. For a moment, her body left the cushy bed as her ears caught the last second of the boy's free fall onto the mattress. "She's fine."  
  
"We'll see." the blond let out faint yawn, "the next time her engine fires up. All I want to do is sleep."  
  
Her jaw felt like that of a dog's, as she took in a large breath of air. And she nearly fell on top of him as she sat up.  
  
"I hear that." She nodded weakly. "But we can't. Not yet."  
  
"*Uh*--What now?" he whined.  
  
"We got to unpack." Her legs felt like they would tangle as she stumbled out of bed, weakly reaching for her duffel. The bag let out a whinny whiz as she drew the zipper across its curvy path, to the other side. The flap flopped back effortlessly, and she let her hand drop freely into its depths.  
  
--But something felt odd on the tips of her fingers, something hard and synthetic, and out of her grasping range. She moved her hand towards it a bit, the heel of her palm rubbing on the cloth of her shirts as her fingers curled around the synthetic groves easily, as if it were crafted just for her.  
  
And it took an effort to wrench the thing out of her bag, hearing it rattle just a bit as it was free of her duffel. The glint of it in the daylight nearly blinded her as her tired eyes ran over its shiny, nickel surface.  
  
"Momma?" her brow moved into a kink as she gazed at the small revolver in her grip. The gun was identical to the one her mother clumsily handled back home, the same make, design. and even the serial number. So rapt, was she, she nearly didn't see the sheet of wrinkled, creased paper that was wrapped around the small barrel, secured by a thin rubber band.  
  
The band contracted into a small little ball as she rolled it off, caving in no dent on the comforter. The lined sheet of loose leaf crinkled as her fingers unfolded it, eyes running over the pretty, defined curves of English script.  
  
*Kim. * The script read easily through the creases. *I see that you found your little helper for this mission of yours. Considering how snoopy your brothers have gotten, it'd be best if this were with you. You'll need it more than we do back home, considering your destination. Just take good care of it, 'cause I'll expect it back the second you get home. Love Mom. *  
  
"'PS:'" she read aloud. "Keep it in the closet, so you'll know where it is.' Pf--might as well."  
  
Her other hand took the bag by the thick sling, and she hoisted it towards the closet door with a huff. The sides of the duffel caved in a bit as she dropped it on the floor, her hand twisting the brass knob and guiding the light door ajar--  
  
And she blinked at that large, heavy rifle resting on its side in its own patch of egg-carton foam. Beside the mammoth gun's lengthy magazine well sat a small case of large rounds, sticking out of the Styrofoam like piercing, metallic stalagmites. Next to those sat a decent sized box of pistol rounds, with the word GLASER emblazoned in white.  
  
"Closet indeed." She smirked, and the revolver flattened a few of the cones on the egg-carton foam as she set it down gently. "Thank you, Mommy."  
  
"You say something, KP?" the boy mumbled.  
  
"Oh. nothing." Her hair tugged at her head as it shook gently side to side. The door clicked closed as she pushed herself onto her feet. "It's nothing. Just getting acquainted with the place."  
  
"Could you do it a little quieter, please?" he groaned. "I'm trying to sleep here."  
  
"You could have fooled me, Ron." She chuckled softly, spinning toward the bed as she stumbled for it. "The way you're so uplifting and all."  
  
"Anything for the fashion queen." She frowned as that weak smirk pulled at the corner of Ron's lips. "All hail the Possible dynasty of the Style File."  
  
"Where Ron can only hope his freckled skin is in." her arms barely folded over her breasts.  
  
"That's a low blow, Kim."  
  
"Shut up, Mr. Head."  
  
***  
  
Tara kicked her legs out softly as she hunched on the bed's edge. Her ankles rolled at her whim, feeling her strings extend as they ran over the bones to their natural limits. Her knees buckled and her calves pressed through the soft quit on the foot of the bed, soles of her feet sinking gently into plush carpet briefly as her legs lifted off again.  
  
Less than a day in the room stretched into a lifetime, sitting patiently as her man husbanded the laptop and the flashing LCD. She wasn't sure what exactly was so fascinating about it. Faces, pictures, and other whatnot had flickered on-and-off the screen briefly as new windows stretched across the bland desktop pattern of clouds.  
  
"Everything okay, Yune?" she flopped her back onto the bed.  
  
"Yeah." the black cap of hair dipped a bit, "just looking over some files Hershel was kind enough to declassify."  
  
"Declassify?" Her back felt straighter than a board as she sat up quickly. "Oh--tell me tell me tell me!"  
  
"Nothing you'd get to excited about, T." his fingers combed roughly through his hair. "Profiles, maps, memos, etcetera."  
  
"Anything *remotely* interesting?"  
  
"No, not really." He said. "This is work in the intelligence service. And welcome to it."  
  
"And how would you know about that?"  
  
"My dad was in an intelligence battalion back in his days in North Korea." He explained. "Went through some of his stuff back then. And I don't think he was too happy about it. Probably what started me on the military road to nowhere in the first place, now that I think about it."  
  
"What a career choice." she kicked up her legs again, working her ankles.  
  
"Found anything good to watch on TV?" he turned his head slightly. "You sound a bit bored."  
  
"Damn straight." She let her knees buckle, and gravity overwhelmed her legs. "All those channels and nothing to watch. Unless you call that bizarre version of Sesame Street quality daytime TV."  
  
"Did the Arab Muppets pound on the Jewish Muppets yet?" she wasn't sure, but she swore her ears caught a faint chuckle from beyond the head of hair. "Or is it vice versa?"  
  
"*Not* funny, Yune!" she frowned. "Not one bit!"  
  
"You know what I think, T?" he said rhetorically.  
  
"Nope..." She shrugged in the midst of a sigh. "But I have a strange feeling you're about to tell me. Am I right?"  
  
"It don't matter what I think when it comes to this struggle." The boy said over the soft, erratic clacking of keys. "Talks, agreements, treaties.. None of those do any good. When the bullets start flying and body counts are rising, all that crap flies straight out the window."  
  
"Yeah, but." her eyes wondered to the sky blue pane of glass just above his head. Faintly she could see some of the flush green tress sway with their leaves fluttering as the wind rustled through, only to cease, easing back into their proper position. "Everything with a beginning has to have an end. Just like the seasons."  
  
"To everything, there is a season." The head of hair bobbed. "A time to be born; a time to die. A time to kill; a time to heal."  
  
"A time to hug." she smiled brightly, angling her head of center.  
  
"A time not to hug." The boy retorted above the clacking. Her cloud nine had deflated. "A time for war--"  
  
"And a time for peace." She pressed.  
  
"King Solomon." He noted. "Been reading the Ecclesiastes recently, I see."  
  
"Yep." She nodded. "And the folly of living a materialistic life. Poor guy sounded miserable."  
  
"Everything was for nothing, he realized." The Asian said. "After his transcendental awakening, he knew his way--*man's* way wasn't the right way, and he searched his heart for answers."  
  
"I know." She moved her body to and fro, like a pendulum swinging gently from its fulcrum. "Kind of like this Uzi person, huh?"  
  
"More like King Saul." he chuckled. "Don't get a wise man like Solomon mixed up with that hedonistic fool! Brat can't see what's ahead of him, let alone in front of him."  
  
"Solomon was too, if I recall right." She said. "After reading the first two chapters of Ecclesiastes."  
  
"Well yeah." The Korean shrugged. "Difference is that he woke up. Uzi has yet to. if he does."  
  
"True."  
  
--From the large, solid door came a rapping, and her seat nearly hopped off the mattress in surprise. She glanced back at the Asian, and she laid eyes upon his preoccupied face for the first time of the day. The drawer in front of him gently rolled open, and her ears caught his good fingers jittering on the wood.  
  
"Who is it?" his tan brow furrowed as the drumming of his fingers ceased--and she heard something scrape briefly.  
  
"Kim." The voice called through the towering, thick door. "Now open up. We got stuff to do."  
  
There was another scrape from the drawer, and something inside its sunken base clunked just before the rollers took it back. She hopped off the bed, and her legs carried her to the door, hand moving the brass handle clockwise and the door quietly glided open with a little pull.  
  
"Kim." she angled her waist back as the redhead brushed past her quickly, "you made it."  
  
"No duh." The wrinkled comforter gnarled greatly under the auburn's weight, its weak crevasses leading to her back in winding slits. "Barely made it past Philadelphia Road without a scratch. Damn VSA are everywhere!"  
  
The chair let out a stifled creak as the Korean hunched. "Did they see you?"  
  
"No." the auburn shook her head. "They shouldn't have. Yet I bet they weren't too pleased when we smashed through the fences."  
  
"Hmm. okay."  
  
"Where's Ron at?" the lock made a clack as she eased the huge piece of lumber shut.  
  
"He's away." her mouth opened, and Kim let out a big, toothy yawn. "Getting a short nap with the rodent. Shouldn't be too long. So. what's new with you guys?"  
  
"Well." gravity took over as she leaned against the orange, adjacent wall, "I've been trying to keep busy. Yune over there's been occupied with the computer, looking at files and whatnot."  
  
"Well yeah.!" the Asian shrugged. "It's the whole reason I'm here."  
  
"What do you got for me, Yune?" the bedsprings squeaked, and the foot of the bed squished as the redhead sat up. Her full mane of hair swished to the side just as it stopped square on her back.  
  
"Nothing much." His head sank between his shoulders for a second shrug. "Nothing I can really use to determine an overall COA with. The only big thing I found was the complete turnover of the Temple Mount by sometime next week. What's left of it anyway, if the new bulge in the wall doesn't take the whole thing down."  
  
"Pf.!" she shook her head. "Land-for-peace is alive and well."  
  
"Right." Kim said dismissively, and that red hair shook side to side with indifference.  
  
"Given what I could pry from our 'friends' at the Mossad," tan fingers gestured quotations appropriately, "the only thing we can do right now is a simple reconnaissance."  
  
"The target?" Kim asked.  
  
"Tonight at the hotel's ballroom, a local klezmer will perform a brief impromptu concert for the guests and tourists." He explained. "And from what I gathered, Bonnet might be attending it."  
  
"Why on earth would he.?" she kinked her brow.  
  
"It's his klezmer." He continued. "He founded it not too long ago, and practically shows up at every performance."  
  
"What's he going to do?" Kim said almost laughingly, bowing her head as her shoulders moved intermittently. "Play lead singer?"  
  
"I recall he played the tuba." The good hand rubbed at his long features tiredly, shortly before it dropped into his lap. "Not that I really know."  
  
"So what the heck are we doing till night fall?" Kim thought aloud. "Can't sit on our hands all day, can we?"  
  
"Nah." Yune shook his head. "I sent an email request to Hershel not too long ago, requesting one of their cobblers."  
  
"Disguises.." The auburn nodded. "Gotcha."  
  
"Yep." Yune nodded too. "That should shave off a few hours at least. And in fact, they're probably sending a guy over right now for you guys."  
  
"What about us?" she stood up firmly on her legs. The Asian looked at her squarely.  
  
"Kim and Ron are the able element of this team." He said simply. "Not us. So we don't need it."  
  
"Oh." her side found itself against the cool wall once gravity took over again.  
  
"Well." his good hand slapped upon his knee, "you might as well talk to T over there about what's on the tube, 'cause we can't do anything until the cobbler shows up."  
  
"Well, there's one thing." Kim dug her hand into one of her pockets, small elbow sweeping back and forth at a natural angle briefly. Her body leaned to the opposite side, and her arm came out with a small, flat square in hand. "I'd like you to take a look at this."  
  
Yune barely managed to catch it as it arced and tumbled through the still air, snatching it as it bounced onto and off his knee. He gazed at it simply.  
  
"A ZIP disk, eh?" his hand twisted at the wrist as he gave it the once over. "What's on it?"  
  
"Not sure exactly." Kim replied. "I picked up in the hospital back in Prague. Uzi had it, I'm pretty sure of it."  
  
"Not much I can do with it." The Asian shook his head. "This laptop doesn't have a ZIP drive equipped. But I'll hang to it, just in case. Unless, of course, you'd like Hershel to take a gander--"  
  
"Absolutely not!" Kim shook her head ferociously.  
  
"We're a team here." Yune said. "Don't let this little grudge get the best of you, or it could cost you--or even worse--us."  
  
"I understand that--but--" The auburn nodded.  
  
"But you'll treat her as an equal team member." Yune narrowed his almond gaze. "No matter how annoying or pompous she gets."  
  
"But--!"  
  
"*No* matter how annoying or pompous she gets." He pressed, putting more deliberate stress into it.  
  
"Eh--but." Kim's fingers strangled a piece of comforter in her vice- like grip, "fine! Have it your way."  
  
"That's a good girl." She giggled.  
  
The auburn twisted her body around fiercely, her whipping mane complementing the red-hot anger deep within the emerald gaze.  
  
"SHUT UP, TARA!" Kim growled.  
  
"Ah, ah, ah.!" she waved a disparaging finger at the irate girl brazenly. "I'm your elder now!"  
  
"Don't push it, T." Yune frowned. "Or you may not live before dusk."  
  
The sight of her man's frown broke her glee, guilt twisting her sinking insides gently. No matter how the rush elated her, she could always count on him to bring her crashing down to earth.  
  
"Okay." she sighed.  
  
"Now make up." He gestured appropriately to the redhead, who held one of the bed plush pillows in her grasp.  
  
"Friends, KP?" she shrugged.  
  
"Friends!" Kim's shark-like smile was only but a second, before she stumbled back into the wall, the pillow in her face.  
  
***  
  
The curtain of the Mediterranean night had just fallen, and Shia's hands jittered on the brass of his tuba, fumbling around on the valves as he blew a couple sour notes. Shmuck Avenue's first gig had finally arrived, hot on the heels after word had spread around concerning the murder of an American lawyer at a popular nightclub. IDF and the police had an APB out on all VSA, and he'd be a monkey's fucked uncle before they took him on his group's opening night.  
  
But if the police and military didn't catch him, Uzi sure as hell would the second he finds him missing from evening roll call.  
  
The sea of endless faces engulfed the floor; the colorful centerpieces blossomed from the white tables like flowers on a lily pad, with golden chandeliers as bright as the midday sun. His heart nearly gave out on him from fear. They gazed towards the klezmer as they set up--at *him* with attentive eyes, as if he was caught up in a harsh spotlight. One set of eyes calmed his apprehension--brown eyes that soothed him--as they were dotted in the middle of a girl's smiling face, skin a dark brown.  
  
*Robin. *  
  
"You ready to get your ass handed to you?" teased that little upstart of a lead guitarist, Mark. "Ready to kiss your lover goodbye as she walks me out of here?"  
  
"You wish, you little prick!" he growled.  
  
"Wishing is for the weak!" he smirked arrogantly. "Doing's for the strong!"  
  
"You're about to get strong-*armed* in a minute!" his shaky fingers came to rest, flat on the valves.  
  
"We'll see!" Mark worked the sling of his electric ax over his head, its petrol blue body sliding to a stop on his thin belly. "Your girl would cream herself once she gets an earful of my guitar!"  
  
"Whatever, punk!" he dismissed.  
  
"You're the punk, punk!" ***  
  
The tuba player had seemed to have settled his differences with the lead guitarist, since the huge, wrap-around piece of brass waddled its way to the back of the makeshift stage. The cap of dark hair shook violently like fur on a shaking, wet dog, as the lead guitarist strolled to the microphone stand. His lips went agape--and from out his mouth came a strange sound, a deep, hollow whine that seemed to have blared from a hollowed out log. The guitarist stumbled back a step, the metal stand teetering at an angle in his grasp. Only then, Ron noticed, a player stepping back gently from the twisty, winding piece of glossy wood.  
  
"When Yune said 'klezmer', he wasn't kidding!" he noted, and a pain burned in his eyes as he struggled to see the tools of the evening's event. Shia--the average body with the brown, curly top--was at the tuba while his antagonist took up the electric guitar; a stick of a blond took up the waxy curly fry of a didgeridoo and the shofar looked nothing more than a thick switch in the portly man's grasp. A lonely violin laid flat on the nearby stool, waiting for talented musician to draw its bow across its tight strings flawlessly.  
  
"It's better than enjoying a meal in silence, Ron." Tara flicked the last scrap of her glistening meat into her mouth, almost as if she had forgotten about that stunning tube dress around her shapely figure. Yune was a lucky man. "No matter how. *different*--it is."  
  
"Hey--!" he pressed his hands flat against the table. "I know a good klezmer when I hear one. Brave Old World! That's a good group! Shmuck Avenue. now that--is a stupid group!"  
  
"Oh please, Ron." The blonde's head rolled gently along with her eyes. "Give them a chance, for Pete's sake. You haven't even heard them!"  
  
"If Shia Bonnet's a part of it," Yune's face was flat, expressionless as a bust, "it can't be good. Believe me.."  
  
"Can we focus please?" Kim ran a finger through her puffy hair quickly, lacing her fingers on the way down to her lap. That green, sparkling dress really brought out her eyes, he just *had* to say. "We're here on reconnaissance, not reviewing."  
  
"Have it your way, KP." He shrugged. "Reviewers have fun shredding things to pieces."  
  
"So Ron," Tara said, "you seem back to your normal self."  
  
"Yeah." one of his eyebrows inched up his crown at the middle, "is that a problem?"  
  
"No." the blonde shook her head gently. "It's just you've been so down since we've left Middleton. Anything wrong?"  
  
"I know." Kim said simply. "He's in a little shock from seeing his homeland again. There are probably some changes he hasn't been exposed to and whatnot. Am I right, Ron? How close am I?"  
  
"What are you talking about, Kim?" he batted it back. "Israel's pretty much how it always was--a military camp--when leaders aren't tossing pieces of holy land away like bottles of scotch at Anna Nicole Smith's birthday."  
  
A silence overcame the group. The girl's eyes boggled, and even Yune shot him a perplexed look.  
  
"What.?"  
  
"Yep." Kim's boggled gaze broke as she closed them, flashing the cobbler's fine work on her auburn locks as she nodded. "Mixing metaphors like a blender. Ron's back all right."  
  
The Korean let out a snorting laugh, his cheekbones flush through his skin while his girl giggled uncontrollably.  
  
"I'm lost." He shook his head.  
  
"Of course you are, Mr. Head." Kim softly chuckled. "Now let everyone settle down, the performance is about to start."  
  
"Ladies and germs!" the lead guitarist voice boomed over the amplifiers as he choked the microphone stand single-handedly. "Or germs and gentlemen, if you'd prefer."  
  
A lighthearted chuckle swept through the large ballroom, but he held his tongue, as did the others seated at the table. Kim set her chin atop her laced fingers, supported by her elbows on the table edge as her gaze narrowed.  
  
"Introductions aside," the dark haired boy carried on, "we are Shmuck Avenue, and we'll be performing for you fine people this evening. Isn't that right, Shia?"  
  
"That's gospel, Mark." The curly top smiled in fakery, just by that extra wide, toothy grin.  
  
"Anyway, all we ask is that you sit back, relax, and enjoy the new fangled sound of Shmuck Avenue." Mark took up a classic power stance; lengthy legs wide apart like the sides of an A, fingers slipping the pick from under the strings on the fingerboard. With a loud cry, he called to the rest of the mismatched group. "A one. a two. a one--two--three--four-- !"  
  
And erupted from the band, a mighty discord the likes of which his virgin ears hath never heard. Like a tremendous mix between. he didn't know what! It was noise--pure and simple noise. His hand quickly capped his ears, pressing into them hard. Kim grunted as she followed suit, as did Tara with a brief whine of discomfort. Yune bent at the waist, the ear on his broken arm's side pressed into the tablecloth while the good hand capped over the other.  
  
"Make the noise stop!" cried one of the other patrons as a sea of them crashed like the Mediterranean tides onto the doors. The large pieces of wood rattled and giggled, but they couldn't be persuaded open.  
  
"You guys SUCK!" shouted another.  
  
"You really are SHMUCKS!" yelled one more, and the band ceased their musical assault.  
  
"Oh!" Mark strangled the microphone stand. "Did we forget to mention that the hotel staff kindly locked us all inside? There's *no* escape for you!"  
  
"Let us out, SHMUCKS!" Tara's fists caused the utensils and even the heavy centerpiece to clatter. "Or we'll make you!"  
  
"So not the drama, Tara." Kim noted, her hands slowly easing off her ears. Her eyes clamped shut, face twisting in a mild pain. "Oh. ferocious headache!"  
  
"*Ugh*--!" The Korean moaned. "Shmucks fiddle while ears burn-- *oh*!"  
  
"No can do, cute German thing!" the dark haired punk smiled simply. "But we've got a concert to play!"  
  
Tara's frown sank even deeper, her clenched fists trembling on the tabletop.  
  
"I'M--NOT--GERMAN!" her yell was at the top of her lungs.  
  
"Best if you don't--*uh*--get her people confused with--those Nazi's.." Yune moaned.  
  
"Shut it, broken wing!"  
  
***  
  
The evil--EVIL group had just finished their last song, whatever it might have been. Tara couldn't have been sure; so many confusing discords powered over the lead's lyrical abilities, and the didgeridoo player dropped his curly instrument to park a cute, little Volkswagen by a side of the stage.  
  
The ballroom had become a stained, messy shadow of its former beautiful self, as if the LA riots from the 90's had been reenacted just her. Tables were overturned; sharp pieces from the centerpieces littered the floor among the dark stains of organic whatnot on the warm orange floor. The doors sung gently by momentum, hanging by one strong hinge. Many patrons had forced a set of doors open, using chairs as makeshift battering rams as the klezmer did nothing to stop them. She would have joined them if Kim didn't talk her out of it.  
  
The lone man at the nearby table made clattering noises with the utensils, as he banged his head against the table. The sheets of paper did little to comfort his head as he continued adamantly.  
  
"I still don't understand why he didn't leave." She thought aloud. "The doors were wide open 20 minutes ago."  
  
"See those papers on the table, T?" Yune pointed. "He was writing on those during the performance. Must be working for the Jerusalem Post or something."  
  
"Right." she nodded slowly. "So why couldn't we leave again? We knew this Shia was here, so what's the big deal?"  
  
"See if his employer shows up." Kimberly stated.  
  
"And then what?" she asked.  
  
"Hope he doesn't see us."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Does anyone have any idea what these guys were playing?" Ron shook sense into his head. "I have no clue."  
  
"Smooth Criminal, I assume." Yune chuckled softly. "Given how that portly guy's about to mix it up with the beetle."  
  
"Whatever." She eased the chair back, feeling its smooth ride back on the firmly packed carpet, enough for her legs to straighten. With the soles of her wedges planted flat, her legs locked as she stood up. "I don't know about you guys, but I can't stand another minute in this place. I'm going back to my room."  
  
"Okay." Yune nodded gently. "Just be careful of the broken glass on your way. The floor's practically a giant road spike."  
  
"I will." She said. "There's anything I can get you guys?"  
  
"If the kitchen's still open," Ron said with a predictable smile, "call up some snacks."  
  
"Mm-hmm--mm-hmm!" the rodent's claws clacked on the wood, as it scampered towards the table's center. It stood up upon its hind legs, its bucked teeth poking its belly as it nodded quickly. "Hmm--cheese!"  
  
"It's the meaning of life.." Kim stretched her arms out as she let out a deep yawn. "Will be here for a few more minutes, Tara." The auburn held her open hand out toward the blond. "Key card please."  
  
Ron shrugged before a hand swan dived into his jacket pocket, backing out and craning at the wrist with the flat piece of magnetized plastic in hand. It made a little *clomp* as it took a belly dive onto the tablecloth. It curved slightly as she took it into her grasp, a puzzled looked on her face.  
  
"Stay in our room till we get back." The auburn said. "If worse come to worse--which it probably won't--hide in the closet."  
  
She cocked an eyebrow. "Closet?"  
  
"Trust me on this, okay?"  
  
"Okay." She nodded. "I'll keep it in mind."  
  
"Good." Kim said. "You can go now."  
  
She carefully turned to leave, easing her foot down on the littered carpet gently on the first step. The rear of the ballroom wasn't in nearly bad a shape as was the front, yet that didn't stop a few zealous, disgruntled patrons from their stampede.  
  
"Oh--" Kim said, "and Tara?"  
  
"Yeah?" she called back.  
  
"Some snacks do sound good."  
  
".Right." she sighed, and her eyes rolled.  
  
***  
  
"Shia!" Uzi growled inwardly. "You're going to get it!"  
  
How dare that little punk run off during his post, when a potential retaliation from the IDF was at hand? If that wasn't enough to make his tense evening, his newly fitted leg was in desperate need of some grease. It made a creaking sound with every bend and flex of the hinge, a creaking that poked at his mind, egging at him as mad as when the faucet wasn't completely off.  
  
--All of the sudden, his arm had seemingly gained quite a few pounds in just over a few seconds. His back burned with ache, and he let out a tensely held groan. Each step was a perpetual struggle, all to keep himself upright like the man he was. He was no ape, he was Uzi Drazen, the proud supreme commander of the Victims' Separatist Army, and he wasn't going to let his combat load take him down.  
  
"*Ugh*--!" he groaned. "The steroids--! Ah. *shtup*!"  
  
*It'll be a while before we can synthesize the proper muscle supplements. * his memory whispered--and the urge to turn his gun on himself never had burned so terribly for days.  
  
"Get the military stuff. *UH*--before the medical equipment!" he remembered aloud. "Pf. last time I listen to Shia! GOD!"  
  
The sheer splendor of the Dan Panorama was lost on him, as he trudged through the elaborate halls, bright lights hidden by the hood of his poncho. The folds of his sleek wrap wisped against each other as he stumbled down the corridors. He faintly felt his arm muscles pull through his terminal numbness, his flesh pinching and pulling, tugging and being tugged all in one strange, tingling sensation--and he saw a piece of the poncho drag unnaturally to the side, at the angle his left forearm was. Valleys of the folds ran straight at it, uninhibited by the pull of the earth.  
  
*CLACK!! *  
  
His new combat load was ready for duty, that curly top of a button man his target practice--  
  
Someone stumbled out from the double doors on the nearby wall, nearly tripping over those platform sandals--or whatever the heck they were called. Blonde, wavy hair touched down on the back of a shapely body, female, wrapped attractively in deep blue, strapless dress.  
  
"Whew." the blonde said in a light, girly voice, typical that of a teen. "Dang glass!"  
  
And she turned around--and her face, so graceful and angelic in all its brilliance and yet so familiar, as if he had seen this very girl before.  
  
*But where.? * 


	13. Chapter 13

13  
  
"Well, well, well." Tara's blood chilled, the frosty tingle trickling from the top of her chest to the tips of her toes, at the call of the very man she thought she left long behind. "Welcome to God-given Israel."  
  
The figure down the hall was gnarled, the folds and flaps of the sleek, black poncho shifting into other folds as he moved awkwardly. He was hunched over, a bulging arm set in some kind of restraint, as if it were in a sling, and it kept making small taps and rattles every time it touched his chest. A strange, whining creak came from a leg as he hobbled toward her.  
  
"Ah." the hunchback looked her over with a strange, milky eye, shifting in its mangled socket, "now I remember that face. You're the one that troublesome Asian took pity on over a month ago. Grazed in the foot, am I right?"  
  
Her throat tightened. She took a step back, her breathing shallow and heart quickening its pace, and she carefully moved her wedges in a proper stance, just like Yune showed her. The hood of the poncho dropped a bit.  
  
"Yep," it bobbed, "there's that scar, right on the edge too."  
  
Her toes curled into little fists and her fists tightened as it stepped closer.  
  
"Hmm." it came out like a quiet, rumbling growl, "I remember that posture-- that stance! So when did Yune get out of lockdown, exactly?"  
  
She narrowed her eyes, and the thing let out a laugh the shook her to the bones. It stood up as straight as possible, shifting its head back upon its bobbling shoulders. The black hood slipped off his head, falling to a flattened heap circling around his neck. --And her stance almost crumbled at the sight of that disgusting, twisted visage. The burns, the scars, the shrapnel; it was too much.  
  
".All the better for me." She gazed at that sunken, scrambled eye squarely. and she wanted to keel over on her wobbly knees. "Now that I've personally buried that troublesome *shikse*, did good old Hershel send him out for me? Not that it matters to me much, but I think you'll make good Asian bait."  
  
The good arm shifted underneath the black material, rattling a bit, starting from the side to his front. She pushed a lump back down her neck, clenching her fists tightly.  
  
"Shia should be thanking you, saving his sorry candy-ass and all that." The scars smirked. "If you'll come with me, please."  
  
"No.." she shook her head gently, never losing focus. much. "I won't!"  
  
--With incredible speed, the disgusting man already had his fingers jammed into the top of her dress. She could feel the sticky leather of his gloves rub between her breasts, and he reared his metal head back--  
  
--*THUNK!! *--  
  
--And she could barely feel the carpet on her skin as a great, throbbing pain swelled in her crown. Something warm trickled down her forehead quickly, gently tracing the curves of her face, running down her pointy chin where it dripped upon the top of her chest. Her cringing eyes just managed to catch a runny patch of crimson atop them man's head, oozing down the tip of one of the large shards.  
  
The scary man said simply, running a finger up the makeshift blade. He looked at the shining red strangely, curiously like a child.  
  
"I just had these polished." He shook his strange head awkwardly, the sheer weight crowning his stubble forcing his neck to bob and weave in strange arcs. His boots made their first clomps toward her as his heavy head steadied upon that gnarled neck. "Not that it matters anyway."  
  
--All the air, her breath escaped her as a quick and sudden force struck her in the side, turning her over onto her belly. Her dry eyes winced as the strong sore burnt through her torso, swelling painfully as her muscles struggled for precious air. His dirty, muddy boots touched down on opposite sides of her arm, and she felt the bones push into the bicep as he jammed it into the crook of his knee. Her wrist turned counter clockwise, pinky taking lead and her elbow locked uncomfortably.  
  
"While we're on the subject of dear old Bin-Mok," he grunted, "I'd like to see how this little technique of his works."  
  
--And words couldn't describe the pain, as it came out in a loud, discord of a cry.  
  
***  
  
"Yune," Kim said softly, "could you snap a shot of the group up there? It might come in handy sometime."  
  
"Oh sure." the Asian rolled his dark eyes behind those almond slits, "let me just whip my good old digital camera out of my ass. I'm not sure anyone's told you, Kim, but I didn't pack anything of the sort."  
  
"Just use the Kimmunicator." She said sharply, and her hands rummaged gently inside the leathery sack till her fingers touched upon hard, angled plastic. "You don't have to be an ass about it."  
  
Its shell made a hollow *clomp* as she touched it upon the table, pushing it towards its glass encompassed centerpiece. Tan fingers took it into grasp, dark eyes running over it strangely.  
  
"Just point the screen, and shoot." She said. "I'd like to get that girl in the frame too, find out who she is."  
  
"That might be Bonnet's girlfriend, if I remember correctly." He shrugged gently. "I think her name's Robin, but don't bet the house on it."  
  
"Don't worry." She said. "I won't."  
  
Yune's good arm arced out from his body, handling her PDA as if it were a can of aerosol spray. A knuckle twitched, and the device let out a humming buzz and a little *click*, the very tip flickering a tiny dot of blinding white. The tablecloth rumpled and wrinkled, the PDA traced lopsided circles on the table as it spun toward her, half its shell teetering on the round edge.  
  
It would have broke, if she didn't have the sense to snatch it up.  
  
"Gee--thanks." she frowned, and she dropped it in her handbag.  
  
"You're welcome." He sniggered. "Well, I don't know about you guys, but I'm calling it a night."  
  
"Me too." the nearby chair screeched gently--and Ron stood straight up, arms outstretched for a yawn. "Hope T's got some snacks up there, cause I'm hungry."  
  
"Yep--yep!" the rodent nodded. "Food!"  
  
--Her body trembled; her ears shrank at the terrible sound that erupted nearby, from out of the ballroom. It was a terrible sound, an earsplitting scream of pain as if a limb had been broken. The terrible band whipped their heads toward the rear, even the black girl paid it mind. The centerpiece shook--and Rufus hunched over on his bald, hind legs, shivering as if he'd been outside in the chilly cold. Yune dug into the flaps of his jacket, head trained toward the rear set of doors.  
  
"Uh--" Ron's flat voice droned stupidly on, "what was that?"  
  
"Sounded like T!" he frowned, his good arm flopping to his side like a dead limb. Bits of glass crunched as he eased the chair back, jumping to his feet with a pistol in hand. "Come on!"  
  
The Asian jogged for the door as quietly as he could as the blond stumbled clumsily after, nearly tripping over a splintered leg of a chair with his little buddy hanging on literally by the seat of his pants. Carefully, she stepped quickly through the cumbersome field of broken glass, feeling every piece of it crunch through the thin soles of her shoes.  
  
"Kim!" The blond gestured wildly over his hoarse whisper. "Hurry-- up!"  
  
"Ron!" she hissed quietly, as she carefully glided around a splintered, upturned table. "In these pumps, this *is* hurrying!"  
  
***  
  
Deep down, Uzi discovered a new found enjoyment--a fulfillment that surged through him like lightning--as the *shikse* pummeled the carpet with her free hand, while he forced the useless one up from the crook of his leg. The sheer pain twisted on her delicate face, the blood oozing down those stunning curves, and the utter mockery of beauty was astonishing. He always wondered why Tristian enjoyed work as an interrogator, and finally he knew.  
  
"Come on, wench!" he snickered. "Scream for me!"  
  
He inched the twisted limb up a few centimeters, and the blonde let out a nice, delicious squeal.  
  
"See.?" he chuckled. "Was it really so hard?"  
  
"Get off me." the words came out garbled and stressed through those pretty, trembling lips, "you *FREAK*!!"  
  
"Now that's not very nice," he grunted as he moved the limb a bit more, "IS IT?"  
  
The girl whimpered quietly, and she pushed her face to the carpet. Bits of crimson dripped onto the carpet in little drops, pooling on it in a little, flat circle.  
  
"I'll take your silence as a yes." He nodded.  
  
Something buzzed close, by his ear like the tiny wings of a housefly. He angled his head complementary to the ear, and up to the ceiling. A lone fly circled the electric lamp aimlessly, like its moth counterpart to the flame. After its possible third lap around the encasement, the tiny dot in the still air floated down the hall to the next lamp--  
  
--"What the--?"  
  
His grip on the girl loosened, and the girl tore away from his fingers the second their grip turned lax. There was that traitor, playing dumb as he gawked at him with big, frightened eyes in front of the door that hanged by a weakened hinge--  
  
--But that didn't hold his attention enough as he saw a pistol trained on him with a steady hand, at the next set of doors up the hall. The eyes behind the average bore almond slits, dark eyes beaming the pure maliciousness of the man's resolve.  
  
"YUNE!" he growled.  
  
"Tara! RUN!" the Family traitor called--and he unleashed a small, copper dome at him with a small bang from the gun, a puff of smoke pluming out the barrel in a brief cloud. The air grabbed at him, tugged at his flesh as the bullet zipped by, smashing into the wall with a *crack*!  
  
"Ah." that small remnant of feeling returned to his leg, "so that's your new wench's name. I should remember that."  
  
His good arm reached across his body, scooping up the hem of his poncho as he bent at the waist. As he straightened his spine, he worked the poncho's hem over his left shoulder, packing the nylon tightly by his neck. Boy the look on the Asian's face was priceless; those tan, narrow slits were as wide as saucers while he hoisted the sling up and off his awkward head. The combat load fell to his side, taking his shoulder with it as his body fell at the waist like a bendy straw.  
  
"Okay, Yune!" he snickered loudly, briefly. With fingers wrapped tightly around the carry handle, he hoisted the heavy gun up with a huff. "*You* RUN!"  
  
--He nearly fell on his butt, and smoke clouded his eyes as the whole hallway disappeared behind a blinding, yellow veil of gunfire. Cordite polluted his nose and hot shells ran down the length of his leg. Like boulders, barely he could see thick chunks of rocky, white plaster tumbled onto the packed carpet, crumbling at the foot as his Mauser rounds pounded into the wall.  
  
"KILL MY FAMILY, WILL YOU!?" he yelled at the top of his lungs.  
  
***  
  
Crumbs of soft white touched upon Yune's cheek, and he dove back into the hall for cover, taking the redhead down to the gold carpet with her. Plumes of smoky white swirled into the ballroom at the sound of falling chunks of wall, thundered over with the sound of machine gun fire and accented softly with the gentle tings of falling brass, colliding into each other on their way down to the floor.  
  
"RON!" he called. "GET DOWN--!!"  
  
He didn't have to say it twice, as he felt the boy's weight crash down upon him like a limp sack of potatoes, rolling off his back onto the carpet with a flop. His breath came out in a hollow grunt, his deafening ears barely twitching at it.  
  
The smoky miasma of plaster overwhelmed them like the morning fogs of the Pacific, northwestern coasts. The terrible band had abandoned their instruments without a care; he saw the portly blond run out the broken doors just before the clouds encompassed them--  
  
"RUN!!" that unmistakable squeal of that curly top strangely overpowered the gunfire, as if the maniac had ceased his assault instantly.  
  
"*Uh*." the blond beside him breathed. "Is he dry yet?"  
  
"I'm not done with you, Shia!" the punk exclaimed. "Get back here! Little punk."  
  
"Guess that's a yes." Kim mumbled from underneath. "Get off me, Yune!"  
  
"Bin-Mok!" that accented voice called to him boldly, as if the voice of God almighty had parted the vastness of the heavens and spoke to him directly.  
  
"What.?" he grunted flatly, suspiciously.  
  
"Oh. so you're still alive, after all." The punk said pompously. "Damn it."  
  
"Would you have it either way?"  
  
".Good question." The punk said with a mocking thought. "I've got to think about that."  
  
"What do want?" he called loudly.  
  
"Nihilism, my good man." The kid replied simply. "A pure and simple world of chaos and honor, where a man of my stature can finally be appreciated! What this slab of sand needs right now, if you ask me. But I'm not at liberty to talk about that."  
  
"Don't give me that crap!" he barked.  
  
"Easy there, Yune." the kid said smoothly. "I'm in charge here. Besides, you don't want to *worry* your girlfriend's head off, now would you? I must say she does have pretty head though. So serene. so gentle; it'd be a shame to ruin it. Would you still love her, even if she had a face as nasty as my dad's?"  
  
"She's done nothing, Drazen!" he rolled his body off of Kim's, his legs tense and ready to hoist him up the instant his back pressed against the floor. His grip strangled the Daewoo, and it made a small staccato of clicks as he thumbed the claw hammer. The world shrank around him, compressing into nothing more than a series of long, winding moments where only he was the star. "Leave her out of it!"  
  
"Or you'll what?" the kid challenged. He clenched his teeth together through his lips, tightening his throat around a convoy of profanities and insults. "Play Rambo?"  
  
There was a moment of silence; so tense he could cut it with a kitchen knife.  
  
"That's right." The punk said in calm, collected drawl. "She doesn't have to die needlessly, does she?"  
  
His hand was slick with moisture, the gun slipping around inside his clammy palm. The cat clenched his tongue tighter.  
  
"Y-Yune.!" the frail voice of his love grunted out. His heart quickened, and the grip on the gun softened at the mere sound of her. "Shoot him! Hear me.? SHOOT HIM!!"  
  
"Be quiet, T!" he shouted. "Don't talk that way!"  
  
"Forget about me--!" she yelled. "I'm dead anyway.!"  
  
"T!!" his firm voice trembled at the thought.  
  
"Well, I wouldn't say that just yet." The kid said indifferently. "I'm feeling a bit generous tonight, so I'm just going to let this kitten go back home to master. Cops are coming and *Shabbat's* tomorrow, you know."  
  
"He's one to talk--" Ron said inwardly, bitterly, a finger wiggling in his ear like a stiff worm. His eyes popped open as the auburn capped a hand over the boy's wide mouth.  
  
"I know your tricks, Yune!" the punk exclaimed. "Don't try any of them!"  
  
"Fine.!" he spat.  
  
"Keep that little kitty on a tight leash there, Yune." the kid said with a chuckling call. "She's a feisty little thing, isn't she?"  
  
Something of his rattled, and there came a soft shifting as if a piece of cloth was being drawn across another. The awkward, muffled patting of footsteps and a steady creaking came in from the hallway, the volume a decrescendo. Nothing abnormal, nothing forced, and a small, creaking squeal from a hinge far away confirmed the punk's word. His lungs gladly let out a sigh of relief.  
  
"All right." he breathed quietly. "I'm going to go look. You two keep quiet until I say."  
  
Kimberly nodded, as did her blond friend behind her cupped hand. Quietly, he pushed himself up onto his feet, the slicked gun taking lead as he approached the door. His knees buckled, and he hunched at the waist as his folded legs carried him toward the doorframe. Smoothly he turned the corner--  
  
--*BLAM! *--  
  
--And a few more bits and pieces of plaster graced his clammy cheeks as the all-but-demolished wall exploded a mere inch away. Metal-head himself stood there proudly (for a hunchback), at the end of the hall a few feet away from the door ajar, his Baby Eagle breathing out a wispy ribbon of gray.  
  
"Ah." the punk let out a soft chuckle, "that never gets old."  
  
The hunchback turned awkwardly around on that creaking pole of a prosthetic, and he hobbled out the parted door without a thought. But the simple thought of another surprise clicked not like the Daewoo as it fell upon the carpet. Tara was bleeding badly, and though he couldn't have been sure, he swore his dry eyes caught the sight of crimson in her ears.  
  
*Just hold on, T. * he thought repeatedly. *I'm coming! *  
  
***  
  
"*Aw*--!" a dull squawk came out from the back of Tara's mouth, her tight muscles flinching as her man wrapped the bandage tightly around her crown. "Easy, Yune!"  
  
"Sorry," her heart fluttered weakly at the sight of his warm eyes, "but you need it badly."  
  
"True," her features twisted gently as the man gave the tail of bandage a final tug, pulling it smoothly over her forehead before his teeth awkwardly graced it with a clamp, "but you don't have to pop my head like zit though."  
  
"Sure don't." her body was stiff as it hopped a bit, as Yune took to her side upon the mattress rather roughly, plopping his lean form on the comforter as if it were a trampoline. "Your head's too pretty to be a zit."  
  
"Thanks." her eyes rolled, "I think."  
  
Her chest tingled at his touch, Yune drawing her left arm across her body by the hand. A corner pulled her lips into a tiny, warm smile as she turned on her side.  
  
"How's the arm?" he asked gently.  
  
"The joint feels a bit strange," she said softly, "but overall, it's fine."  
  
"Yeah," he nodded, "it'll feel odd for a few minutes, but you should be in good shape."  
  
"Should is the keyword." Her lips dropped naturally back into place.  
  
"Yep."  
  
"I'm sorry." The corners of her lips dropped into a small frown, and a dark shadow draped over her at the voice of the auburn. "But can I have your cuddle-buddy for a sec?"  
  
She sighed as her eyes took a lap around. "Sure."  
  
"Sorry, Tara," Her back met squarely against the soft comforter, and her legs seemed to drop a few inches as her man sat up and hopped off the bed, "but duty calls."  
  
"I. know." Pain swelled at the fore of her crown as she hoisted her torso off of the bed, hunching at the waist. "*Uh*."  
  
"Take it easy, T." the Asian said gently. "You've been through a lot this evening."  
  
"Yeah." Slowly, she moved a foot to rest atop the opposite knee. "I know."  
  
Her fingers worked the buckle on the ankle strap loose, the wedge dangling by the thick, crossed straps over her toes. With a simple dip by the ankle, the shoe tumbled to the plush carpet on its side, coming to rest by her other foot just as she brought it upon the other knee.  
  
"Feet are killing me." She flopped onto the soft bed the second her other foot was free.  
  
"Poor T." he said flatly.  
  
"Indeed..." Kimberly said indifferently.  
  
"Is this going to take long, Kim.?" he yawned. "I need my rest."  
  
"Of course." The auburn said. "I won't take long."  
  
"So what's up?"  
  
"Hershel is paying us a visit tomorrow." Kim said flatly, her tone a soft growl at the name.  
  
"Great." He said apathetically. "So?"  
  
"She'll be here to give us a briefing and whatnot," the girl's voice was thick with reservation, "but."  
  
"But what?"  
  
"I'd like Tara to go back home."  
  
Her eyes popped wide open. Her back was straighter than a board, and she pulled her trunk straight up.  
  
"Huh.?" she blinked.  
  
"You heard me right, Tara." The girl folded her arms, her emerald eyes gazing at her evenly. "I'd like you back at Middleton pronto."  
  
"Why?" she protested. "What've I done?"  
  
"You're a liability, Tara." The girl turned her head away. "Already you've got hurt. What if you end up dead because of this?"  
  
Yune bowed his head, shaking it gently.  
  
"I couldn't live with myself if that happened."  
  
"B--But." she stuttered. "What about Yune? What will he do without me?" She hopped off of the bed, an ankle twisting oddly a bit as she stumbled over her own shoes. Her open arms took the lead as she hurried over to him, eyes brimming with a thin line of tears. She cupped her hands gently onto his shoulders. "Tell her, Yune. Tell her you need me! Please!"  
  
Yune kept his eyes closed, his head angling away. "She's. right, Tara."  
  
She blinked. "What.?"  
  
His hand cupped around her waist, her hands slid down his shirt as he eased her back a step.  
  
"I'm sorry, T." his head shook gently. "But she's right."  
  
"But, Yune--!" the room around her seemed to move strangely, her head feeling so much heavier as the words sank in.  
  
"T." he said softly, "Tara. I love you more than you can imagine, but. I can't risk you getting hurt because of this work. Uzi knows about us, and he'll exploit it anyway he can."  
  
"But he'll kill you!" she protested.  
  
"He'll kill both of us." He said. "Tara, please. just go home!"  
  
"I don't want to--!"  
  
"Tara!" Kimberly yelled loudly. "This is not a conversation! Do it!"  
  
"FINE!" she yelled, crossing her arms tightly with her nose in the air. "If you want me home that badly, then I will!"  
  
Her fists clenched, her body hunching over while her muscles twisted her visage into a mask of pure anger.  
  
"But if he comes back in a body bag, YOU'LL BE SORRY!" she yelled.  
  
"Tara, calm down--"  
  
"NO!" a few drops slipped through her lids, her voice at the top of her lungs. "If he doesn't come back home, I'LL KILL YOU IF IT'S THE LAST THING I DO, KIM! I SWEAR!"  
  
Kim looked hurt--actually hurt, just by her advances to the back, her square gaze broken, shaken, as if her outburst had suddenly came out of the blue. How incredibly stupid, she thought. The girl shifted her quivering eyes away, onto Yune as he walked closer to her.  
  
"Kim," he said softly, "could you give us a few minutes?"  
  
"But--" the girl stuttered, "I didn't mean to--"  
  
"Kim.!" he pressed.  
  
"Right.." The auburn nodded. "My apologies."  
  
The girl put one foot behind the other, and she spun on her feet as if she had served the military. Her hips rolled her out of the room, through the large doorframe as the Asian gently closed the door behind her. There was a little *click* as he thumbed the squared deadbolt.  
  
--And she threw herself upon the boy's chest, snuggling into his firm trunk as soon as he turned around. A warm feeling flowed through her body, soothing her, as did the man's arm around her waist.  
  
"What's going on, T?" he said. "Why are you so sad?"  
  
"I don't want you to die!" she nestled her head into the valley between his muscles. "This land's dangerous! If the VSA don't kill you, someone else will--I know it!"  
  
"Tara." he combed his fingers backward through her hair.  
  
"Promise me. you won't die!" she cried. "Promise me!"  
  
"T." he whispered, "you know I can't."  
  
"Please, Yune!" the cloth ran down her face, the friction heating her the tip of her nose as she looked up at him. Never had his eyes looked so solemn before, not ever. "For me.?"  
  
"Tara." he held her closer, and she could feel the faint thumping of his beating heart. Oh how it soothed her greatly. "I can't control what happens to me during my time here. I don't know the hour or the day when I'll finally go, but just remember this: as long as I love you, part of me will be with you always, and you with me. Though we maybe so far away, we'll never be so closer."  
  
Tears touched the corners of her weak smile, his face so blurry and shifting through the watery veil. Tears never felt so good as she closed her eyes, snuggling her face back into his firm chest.  
  
"Thank you, Yune." she lowered her head, enough so that her lips were free from his trunk.  
  
"For what?" he asked.  
  
"For. everything." She breathed. "You're a really great guy."  
  
"I guess.." he said modestly.  
  
"But Yune?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"You really need a better pinstripe." She giggled softly.  
  
"*Uh*." she giggled harder at that sigh, "Yes, dear."  
  
***  
  
"*Ugh*--!" Hershel grunted aloud, into the speaker of her foldout cell phone. "No, Mr. Ambassador, I haven't had any word over who murdered your lawyer friend."  
  
"What do you mean no word!?" the grump of an American exclaimed rather gruffly, like the bark of a big, working dog. "My friend is dead-- the ACLU is throwing a fit--and all you can say is 'no word'!?"  
  
"Mr. Ambassador," her eyes rolled behind her narrowing brows, her voice a throaty sigh, "you're talking to the wrong person. I'm with the Mossad--not the police--as in it's--not--my--problem!"  
  
"The *hell* it's your problem, Missy!" the grouch yelled. "If my government hasn't had enough problems with your fence and settlements, guess what kind of firestorm will happen once they know an American's been killed on the Israeli soil!"  
  
"What's left of the soil, you mean!" she growled the retort. "After your Road--Map--to--Nowhere gets done with it!"  
  
"I'm going to pretend you never said that!" the grump mumbled back. "You'd be wise ease off!"  
  
"Oh yeah!?" her fist clenched tightly around the phone. Never had the stressed plastic sound so close before. "Who's going to make me? Your treacherous judiciaries! HA--! That's a laugh!"  
  
"Don't test me, Missy!" he growled. "If those terrorists of yours had anything do with Dixie's murder, you can bet the US will touch down on your coasts--WITHOUT HESITATION! Do I make myself clear, Missy?"  
  
"Clear as day, Mr. Ambassador." She flatly replied. "And Mr. Ambassador?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"My name's Ariel--not Missy!" she yelled.  
  
"Your name could be Missy Elliot for all I care, you little--!"  
  
The grouch had no time to finish his retort at all, as she closed her phone like a castanet. Yet there came a small something from out the receiver just before it clicked shut, possibly a curse, but her will to know dropped, as did her phone into her jacket pocket. The clock was ticking, and Uzi possibly hobbled to his next move already.  
  
*Ugh! This diplomacy crap will be the end of me! *  
  
"What was that... *ah*... about?" the auburn asked halfheartedly, yawning it out.  
  
"Aw... didn't get enough sleep, did we?" she folded her arms, her neck angling her head as she let it drop. "Tough shit. We got work to do."  
  
"Well, you don't have to be so mean about it!" the auburn's blond friend dropped in his two cents. He laid there on the bedspread, flat on his back with his bare arms angling his head up awkwardly. "We'll be happy to help. Be a little nicer, okay?"  
  
"How can I be nicer!?" she threw her arms into the air. "Suicide bombers are blasting my country apart, the UN's riding up on its ass, the US government hopped on the bandwagon over a murder--and if that isn't just fine-and-dandy for normalcy--we've got a fighter jet lost in the Negev!"  
  
"What?" the redhead sat up quickly, twisting at the waist towards her.  
  
"Approximately 24 hours prior to your arrival, an IDF F-15 was shot down over the Negev desert." She explained. "The pilot was killed instantly. And we have no clue if either VSA or a Palestinian group fired the rocket. The guys back at headquarters are still compiling their BDA."  
  
"Hmm." the auburn drew circles in the comforter, the emerald eyes bowing away from her, "why do I get the feeling there's more to this than a simple missile strike."  
  
Her neck straightened her head, pulling it back upon her shoulders.  
  
"The jet was carrying a payload."  
  
"What kind of payload?" The girl looked up at her squarely. "Biological, Chemical."  
  
She cringed at the girl's next word.  
  
"Don't tell me nuclear!" she exclaimed.  
  
"Even I don't know what the heck that plane was carrying." She shook her head. "My orders and details come from my superiors, and even their information comes from a cut-out."  
  
"Great!" the girl's body twisted around on the bed, her straight legs dangling off of the bed like boards and she buried her face into her hands, hidden by the puff of her hair. "So we've got a potential nuke threat? Isn't this just one big cake walk?"  
  
"Welcome to my world, Kimmie.!" she sighed.  
  
"So what if we got another complication?" the blond sat up briefly, and the bedspread dragged toward the foot of the bed as he scooted toward it. With a little grunt, he hopped off of the bed. "We'll get through it."  
  
"Easy for you to say." The girl cocked her head back--and her brow kinked at a faint jingle. "Where do you think you're going?"  
  
She turned, and Ronald stood there naturally with a set of keys dangling in his hand. He turned 90 degrees, and walked for the black duffle by the closet.  
  
"It's *Shabbat*, Kim." He bent at the knees, and his hand dipped into the wrinkly bag. It came out with a blue and white prayer shawl, complete with the ratty fringes. "The Sabbath day, and just as the good book says, I must keep it holy lest I die."  
  
"I thought you were supposed to rest today." She pushed her chest up as her legs dipped further. "You know, hang around and do nothing."  
  
"Exactly." The blond nodded. "And I can't think of a better way to rest than at the Wailing Wall down in Jerusalem."  
  
Her brow kinked again, just as the brow was about to fall. "And. just how are you getting there?"  
  
"Sadie, of course." He nodded. "How else?"  
  
"Now hold up, Ron." The redhead pushed herself to her feet. "I know you're pretty much strict when it comes to your Jewish roots, but Tara's flying back home today come this afternoon. And just how do you expect she'll get to the airport?"  
  
"Don't worry, KP." He waved a hand, and his knees bent while his other set of fingers dove back into the bag. "I'll send Sadie right back to you when she drops me off. She can pick me up before midnight."  
  
"But Ron--"  
  
"Let him go, Kim." She said. "If the S.A.D.I. doesn't show up in time, I'll take Ms. Stark myself."  
  
"Pf." the girl rolled her eyes. "Suit yourself."  
  
"Just be careful, Mr. Stoppable." She said. "Israel's had a surge of drug related crime in the past month. So do yourself a favor, and keep away from the checkpoints."  
  
The boy nodded as his hand came out with a black yarmulke. He pressed it on his head carefully as he walked for the door, keys in hand with the shawl draped over his shoulder as if it were a towel. Hershel actually felt something as the boy twisted the knob, strolling out the door without a care. She couldn't place it; for something like a mere second, a peaceful bliss had eased her troubled mind, a peace she hadn't known for a long, long time.  
  
"Glad to see someone keep the faith." she smiled weakly. 


	14. Chapter 14

14  
  
The door eased shut with help from its closer, towering over Kim at its fix on the very top, just as the messy blond strolled out, colored shawl and skull cap in hand. A carefree grin was pulled across his face; an untroubled peace moved his body smoothly out of the room. It was ironic, considering how the utter tension that wringed the region to its core.  
  
Hershel seemed to be a brighter hue of her typical tanned self. She couldn't put her finger on--even place it to begin with. Something about Ron's sudden day trip down south stirred her, she could see it plain as day in her dark eyes.  
  
"Pf..." the woman dropped her head--the mane of full, blonde hair seemingly overcoming her tight face smoothly--almost as if in embarrassment as her hips swayed side to side. "Nice to see someone hasn't lost it."  
  
"Hasn't lost what--exactly...?" her brow kinked.  
  
The blonde pulled her head up. "Oh--nothing." Hershel dismissed. "Forget it."  
  
"Right..." she shook her head.  
  
"Ms. Hershel." Yune's voice easily powered over the tiny squeak of the door. She turned, and the Korean's lean frame squeezed through the space easily. In his forehand carried a small ZIP disk, the plastic shell a shade of grayish blue.  
  
"What?" the woman folded her arms across her chest, the typical tan flushing her lighter features once again, looking plainly as usual.  
  
"Regardless of what some team members think about this," he said as the door clicked shut, "I'd like your guys back at HQ take a look at this disk."  
  
"Yune!" she frowned severely.  
  
"Get over it, Kim." He shook it off, his almond eyes thin slits.  
  
"What's on it?" the woman asked.  
  
"That's just it." The Asian said. "We don't know. The only reason we're--I mean--*I'm* bothering is because Kim snatched this from Drazen himself."  
  
"Drazen!" the blonde's eyes were wide. "Are you positive?"  
  
"Straight from his affects back in Prague." Yune nodded. "Take a look at it."  
  
"Right." The woman nodded just as she approached him, open palm taking the lead. The corners of Kim's mouth threatened to drop beyond her chin as the Korean flipped the disk to the blonde without a second thought. The shell of grayish blue disappeared behind a flap of the business jacket. "I'll have the boys on it ASAP."  
  
"Good." The Asian sighed. "The sooner, the better. Oh yeah--you know Tara's leaving for home this afternoon, right?"  
  
"Of course." The tanned Barbie nodded. "I remember the phone call earlier this morning. I'll be sure she catches her plane."  
  
"Great."  
  
"I think you made a good decision, Yune." Kim noted.  
  
"I agree." He said. "But I wouldn't be you, if I came back in a canvas bag though."  
  
"Yeah..." she chuckled softly. "Tara... she loves you more than anything."  
  
"She does." He nodded.  
  
"Wish I met someone like that."  
  
"Don't be too sure that you haven't found him yet." Yune said simply. "I mean, your special someone has to be someone who knows you inside-and- out, cares about you, and would stick his head through a noose for you too. Am I right?"  
  
"Yeah." She nodded.  
  
"Then maybe your dream man isn't too far out of reach as you think." A corner of his thin lips pulled them into a slight smirk.  
  
"Yeah." She folded her arms. "Who might that be?"  
  
"Don't be dense, Kim."  
  
"Right..." Hershel swayed that full mane side-to-side as she bowed her head gently. "Can we get back on track please?"  
  
"Oh--right." She shook sense back into her head. "Of course."  
  
"Good." Hershel's hips moved oddly with each step. Her pumps sinking awkwardly into the flush carpet upon every landing as she made her way toward the laptop. "Let's begin."  
  
"What's our next move?" The bed made a squeak as her rump met the bedspread. Yune pressed his back against the orange wall, the good hand stuffed into the complementary pocket.  
  
"Here's a small SITREP of the situation:" the Barbie's voice powered over her fingers, dancing erratically on the keys. "As you have heard this morning, one of our F-15 jets had been shot down over the Negev Desert, quite a few miles east of Har Ramon."  
  
"What was it doing out there in the first place?" she asked.  
  
"According to the intelligence," the woman explained, "there was credible evidence that a VSA convoy was on its way south, possibly to Elat, but we can't be certain."  
  
"Okay, but why the need for a bombing?" Yune asked. "You could have just pulled a few units from Philadelphia Road."  
  
"We tried that a few weeks ago," the woman explained, "just before Drazen's meeting with the Seniors. We were lucky to get two men back alive. Rather than relive past failures, we wanted to tail them back to their GHQ and assess a better course of action."  
  
"And if you couldn't," it just clicked in her mind, "you'd drop the bomb on them. Take out Drazen and the rest of his cronies at the same time, right?"  
  
"Yes," the mane of blonde bobbed, "that was the original idea at the time. You see ever since the VSA had been formed, they have purchased mass quantities of scrap material. One of our sources stated that the Major had some huge plan up his sleeve, possibly a huge siege weapon of some kind, ever since talks of the Temple Mount turnover had begun."  
  
"I thought that was a few days ago." The Asian's brow kinked. "I saw the huge story about it back in the Czech Republic. Didn't understand a damn word they were saying, mind you, but I got the gist of it."  
  
"No," the woman shook that mane gently, "talks had been going on before that."  
  
"How long?" she asked.  
  
"I'd say a little less than a month ago." The woman said. "I was completely against it at the start, and so were a majority of the public. Pf--it's probably what started this whole separatist movement in the first place, if you think about it. And in fact, that's about the time the VSA had come to light."  
  
"Right." She nodded. "During that time, back stateside, law enforcement and military were searching the continental shelf for the last Drazen's body. Search came up empty, and now we know why."  
  
"Sure do."  
  
"All right." Kim said. "Just tell me what to do."  
  
The keyboard let out a final clack under the Barbie's stabbing finger. The legs of the chair gently scraped against the carpet as the woman pushed herself about an arm's reach away from the laptop, to the right. The LCD shined in a brilliance of dry, warm colors; a large field of deep blue to the left, the rightmost edge sloping gently against the larger field of tans, speckled lightly with greens with a small oblong oval of deeper blue a couple of centimeters away from a superimposed dark line.  
  
"Here is the deal." The Barbie said. "This is a current map of Israel, courtesy of your Webmaster back stateside."  
  
Suddenly, several red spots had blossomed out of the image like zits on a pizza-face back at Middleton High, and half of the zits bled these thin, little streamers that trailed their way south into the arid desert. A section of each line flared out about half its width near the very end of the streamers, the very end a sharp point.  
  
"These red spots indicate the latest suicide bombings and VSA strikes." The woman explained. "These arrows indicate the rouges' routes of travel, according to US satellite surveillance and eyewitness reports."  
  
"But how are they getting this scrap from?" she asked.  
  
"Whatever they cannot purchase, they pillage from the refuge camps during a strike." The woman explained simply. "And they all take it down south to somewhere with in the country. The tips of the arrows indicate the convoys' last known sighting. And as you know, the VSA GHQ has to be somewhere within that area. I want you guys to find it as soon as Sadie gets back."  
  
"Right." She nodded. "And then what?"  
  
"Did you find your little *present* in your closet?" the woman asked.  
  
"If you mean that cannon?" she rolled her eyes. "Yeah. What's that got to do with anything?"  
  
"Under the bench," the woman said simply, "you'll find a locator card, the very ones used in nuclear warheads. Plug in the wires attached to the nine-volt, and we'll do the rest."  
  
"Rodger that." She nodded.  
  
***  
  
"This sucks!" Ben cursed, as he pressed the cloth to the glossy eye of the mechanical beast that took its perch atop a mere Hummer.  
  
He was at a loss. Everyone else got the cool directives, either beating the crap out of some smart ass Muslims in the Gaza or to bring a total war down upon a terrorist stronghold. But not him--oh no sir! His job was simply to keep watch over the armory, make sure that no one took more ammo than what they needed for their duty... that they never did.  
  
"Don't get so down there, Ben." The strange voice shot up from the vehicle below, through the little crack between the beast's platform and the sheet metal of the roof, in its entire omnipresent mystique. "Every dog has its day. Just like this dog will have with a cute, American SUV!"  
  
"What is it with you and that car?" he asked.  
  
"Me...?" the overly eager voice in car said rhetorically. "I... have no idea. Maybe it's for posterity's sake. Just to say that I fucked Sadie, the one and only talking SUV on the other side of the globe!"  
  
"Uh... huh..." Ben kinked an eyebrow; furiously scrubbing at the mineral spots caked on the glass. "Can a SUV even physically do that?"  
  
"I'm not sure." The weird thing replied. "But I'm sure me and her will work something out."  
  
"And how would you?" he smirked. "Somehow?"  
  
"DETAILS--DETAILS!!" the vehicle yelled. "What is it with you humans and triviality? I swear! It's like your paralyzing obsession! Why can't you just forgo all your trifling and inconsequentiality, and just live a little? How you humans got this far is even beyond my processing capability."  
  
"So is this the part where you and all the toaster ovens take over the planet, and enslave us?" he chuckled.  
  
"Don't be ridiculous!" the vehicle exclaimed. "Washing machines are *so* better than the measly toasters!"  
  
"But what if a machine sympathizer gets hungry?" he laughed.  
  
"No idea. But I'm sure he'll get all the water he needs."  
  
"This is true." He nodded.  
  
A faint rumbling rolled in from the nearest set of thick, steel doors, accompanied by a sharp, irregular creaking, like the squeaky wheel on a shopping cart. Out of the shade, came out a large, metal cart with a shinny flat surface, its area occupied by a large piece of some kind of artillery. Pieces of it were strewn about its circumference, wires and chunks of it dangling out as if it had been eviscerated in the span of a few short hours.  
  
"What the heck is that?" he said aloud.  
  
"You're asking me?" the vehicle replied. "I don't even have eyes."  
  
"I too have the same question."  
  
Ben's heart jumped in his chest at the voice, a deep baritone accented with the intonation of a Slavic.  
  
"Major Drazen?" he called gently into the dark veil of the shadow.  
  
"The very same." The young man stepped slowly into the light, the differential of light and shadow playing havoc on his scarred, twisted visage. Yet the light gently smoothed over those sharp, angled shards that dug into the cap of his head. The sunken orb of white shifted strangely in the light.  
  
Velcro ripped as the hideous man tore open a flap on one of his chest pockets. Two fingers angled their way inside the thin pouch at the back knuckle, making little, shifting bumps in the olive polyester. The gloved wrist eased back, and his two fingers came out with a small syringe. Inside the glossy cylinder glowed a green tab, every cc filled to the brim with diabolical meanings.  
  
He rolled back the "cuff" of his BDU, above the greasy crook of his arm, pressing the cloth neatly atop his mangled shoulder. The flesh was slashed and scared oddly by the shards and slivers of metal, gleaming in the light like grains of sand in the sun  
  
--Ben felt his throat constrict as the Major easily jammed the green tab into the flesh of the arm, the split second the thin needle was free of its orange cap. And the Major didn't even flinch one bit as he thumbed the plunger cumbersomely, putting deliberate action into it certainly. The cylinder circled its entry point at an angle by the metal head guiding hand, a slow, stomach-churning action that made him want to gag.  
  
"Still nothing!" his superior cursed. "*Dreck! * The first, fresh batch the doctor cooks up, and still!"  
  
"The Goliath drug still not working?" the vehicle inquired.  
  
"It works... *uh*--fine!" the Major unrolled himself from the hunch, the machine gun letting out a stifled rattle as it bounced against his chest with a certain *tap*. "Damn doc isn't mixing enough adrenaline."  
  
"Amazing this stuff sells like hot cakes." The SUV noted. "After the first case of aneurysm and heart failure, you'd think they'd ease up. But they don't. They just want tab after tab, drag after drag, and sniff after sniff. It doesn't compute."  
  
"People are stupid!" Ben grunted.  
  
"Exactly." The Major affirmed. "They'll eat a pig's ass if you cook it right."  
  
"And I heard they don't eat much pork around here." The vehicle said.  
  
"They typically don't." the needle slipped cleanly out of the metal heads arm, leaving a little dot of crimson atop the puncture. "But then again, how can something so bad taste so right?"  
  
The floor let out a little *ting*, as small as a pin drop. The syringe rolled gently upon the floor, coming to rest at the flank of his boot.  
  
"Not that it matters to us." The metal head continued. "As long as the degenerates keep filling our coffers for it, we'll gladly supply it. And to think, this little drug had a simple beginning as my muscle supplements."  
  
"Those punks across the fence will be so weak, they won't know what hit them."  
  
The words resounded from beyond the veil of the shadow, just out of the halogen's reach. Little taps plodded in a slower drawl, gaining momentum as a dark figure approached them, the humanoid black in a shade of gray. An olive color slowly bled out from the gray, taking form of polyester while the shade caressed the face just as the person stepped out. A brown cap of puffy curls sat atop the man's head; a dark, pronounced circle outlined one of the eye sockets thickly.  
  
"The morons still think we're Columbians!" Shia laughed. "Sympathizing with them against the insidious, Zionist war machine. Do they honestly expect that they can defeat us? Ha! It's laughable!"  
  
"Indeed it is, my friend." The metal head nodded. "Is the 'copter ready for our next sortie?"  
  
"No, Mr. U." the curly top shook side to side. "The painter had finished up on our monogram on the tail. The crews are reloading the pods, and the hellfire missiles are being wheeled out of the armory as we speak. Besides, our searches and traces haven't even come close to pinpoint a possible location yet. But don't worry, Sir, we'll have our fun soon enough."  
  
"Enjoy the luxury and comfort of your shadow while you can, Bin-Mok." The Major smirked wickedly. "Your curtain will fall soon enough...."  
  
"I hear that." Shia smirked. "Wish you didn't have to take it out on that German chick back at the hotel though. She's hot."  
  
"She can have all the yellow babies she wants to." The Major's grin dropped. "Nothing more than a weak, little girl, barely loose from her mother's apron strings, if you ask me. But I think I learned her a good lesson in respect!"  
  
"Hope you didn't bash her head in too badly." Shia shrugged.  
  
"Like the Major gave you that nice shiner?" the vehicle chuckled. "I heard he gave you a real nasty lick on the noggin too."  
  
The curly top deflated as the face below it frowned, his shoulders drooped.  
  
"Don't you have that Ethiopian to tend to?" he asked.  
  
"She's at the Wailing Wall today." The curly top angled a bit. "Doing some good old fashioned praying, when that little scum, Mark isn't hitting up on her. Just *give me that old... time... religion--and that's good enough for me*."  
  
"Sad!" he said indignantly, his balled fists on his waist with his elbows angled out in a jaunt, as he looked over the men around him. "Israelis nowadays are content, either praying or lounging away behind the fence, while the country is ripped away a little more each day. And if they're not going to fight for their land, then we sure as hell will!"  
  
"Ah..." the twisted cheeks of the metal head yanked the corners of his lips up, "now that's the kind of talk I like to hear. It's music!"  
  
"And that's why the convoy brought this little baby." The curly top gave the disembowel tin a hearty tap. From the deep of its barreled shell, It let out a hollow *clang*. "A miracle the boys found this in the plane wreck."  
  
"So what lovely gift did you plan to tithe to the cause?" the Hummer asked.  
  
"Well...." The mass of curls atop the head shifted back a bit. Shia's boyish features moved along its length, his eyes tracing every curve and every line about the shell. "It's a bomb! How else can I explain it?"  
  
"Looks a bit like a Bunker Buster to me." The metal head said.  
  
"Indeed, the warhead is of a surface-piercing design," the boyish man explained, "but the team has found something interesting."  
  
"What exactly?" he asked.  
  
"Our little NEST team was brought out in case it was a nuke," Shia continued, "but our assessment of the core brought about no readings of weapons-grade plutonium whatsoever. But we did find a reddish substance in the core where the plutonium should have been."  
  
"You don't mean--?"  
  
A thin, pressed line drew across the curly top's face, eyes beaming the grimace through his squint.  
  
"Red Mercury." The curly top nodded. "I do mean it."  
  
"Neutron bomb!" the SUV exclaimed. "Oh--nasty shit!"  
  
"Just be grateful that we found Cohen's brainchild, and not some cheeky Arab." The Major's odd face was expressionless... or was it? He couldn't tell.  
  
"Okay..." The vehicle said in a grim, slow drawl. "Now that we have our first *real* bomb, what the heck are we going to do with it?"  
  
"Don't worry about that, Matt." Uzi pulled the remnants of his lips into a small, demoniac grin. "I think I have a good idea..."  
  
"And just what would that be?" the Hummer pressed.  
  
"Patience, my friend." The Major dismissed. "When Solomon Rex's complete, all will be right with the world."  
  
***  
  
"Okay now, Ron..."  
  
The blond boy sighed as he slapped the dark yarmulke squarely on the back of his skull, just where it began to slope to the back of his head. Sadie's nagging voice swept away briefly as he carefully fitted the crown of his talis around his neck, his heart tugging painfully through the thin flaps of wool.  
  
Squarely ahead, towering over him stood the holiest remnant of all Jewish synagogues in a giant, undulated maze of familiar stone. Festooned with tufts of dark green blades in the tight, ragged cracks between cubic tons of rock. A few blades reached out above the people pressed at the wall, seemingly returning the joyful, tearful embrace of its worshipers, many of whom probably were there the first time.  
  
*It's been so long...* his mind whispered behind the tear brimmed eyes. Oh how he wanted to cry.  
  
"Are you listening to me, golden boy?" the vehicle nagged him.  
  
"HEY!!" a leg pocket of his jerked toward the ground, and he felt little hands grasping at him through the wool as a weighty mass wiggled its way up his body, taking a seat on his shoulder.  
  
"Rufus!" he exclaimed, gently wrapping his palm around his buddy's naked body. His elbow made a little *click* as he unwrapped his arm from his body, lowering his buddy to a tolerable height and distance away from his shawl. "You got to be careful around this talis! I've had this since I was thirteen, and they don't come cheaply!"  
  
"He-huh!" the mole rat looked at him with dark, beady eyes. "Sorry...."  
  
"Just be careful next time." He drooped his hand even further, closer to his leg. The heel of his thumb worked the flap up, and easily he dropped his little buddy inside the makeshift burrow. "Okay?"  
  
"Hmm--K!" the rat squeaked.  
  
"Slurpster Stoppable!" the vehicle exclaimed. "Have you been paying me any attention?"  
  
"No!" He shook his head indignantly--only to freeze in the midst of a shake. "I mean--yes!"  
  
"Whatever Ron." Sadie dismissed. "Just so you know, I'll be back here-- *exactly* here--by sunset. Don't wonder too far away."  
  
"Pf...!" he shrugged it off. "Like there's any place around here, where a guy like me can go without getting beaten half to death!"  
  
"Ron!"  
  
"Yeah--fine!" he crossed his arms, staring daggers into the invisible pilot at the steering wheel. "I'll be right here!"  
  
"Good." The floor on the driver's side let out a stifled squeal of air, and the shifter lever jerked back a couple of notches. "Since I might be running a few errands for the group back at Tel Aviv, I might be a little later than expected. But whatever happens, don't leave this area."  
  
"Gotcha, Sadie." He nodded. "We'll be here."  
  
"Good."  
  
The driver's side floor let out a little squeak, and the red-and-yellow Sport Utility Vehicle pulled away from him smoothly. A dark plume of exhaust swirled out the pipe briefly just before it dissolved into the fresh, Mediterranean air as Sadie let her throttle open a little more. The automatic beast became nothing more than a speck in the hazy, green distance.  
  
"Note to self:" he thought aloud. "Call Doc Freeman. Have him reprogram the sass out of the car."  
  
"Hmm!" his buddy jiggled a bit in its burrow. "Yep!"  
  
His head shot up; his hair barely catching up as it bobbed in the air for only a moment. Circling in from behind him came forth a girlish giggle, soft and full of feminine giddy in its alto timbre.  
  
"Funny Americans..." the voice laughed, thickly accented with foreign intonation not that of an Israeli, "and their guzzling utility vehicles."  
  
A piece of talis pinned to his shoulder with pointed fingers, he carefully turned around on his heel, his other shoulder sensing the other side of the wool fabric still in its place. Standing before him stood a woman of medium build, her skin dark as a black with thinned, frizzy hair laid indirectly upon a talis of her own, the two of the longest fringes teasing at the ground with every gentle sway.  
  
"Uh..." his mind was at quite a loss for words, his mandible agape from the top row of teeth, "Hi...?"  
  
"Hmm!" he could hear his buddy quickly grunt. "Oh brother!"  
  
"What's wrong?" Her thicker lips pulling into a flattering smile. "Not seen an Ethiopian before?"  
  
"Well--" he smirked sheepishly. "I--uh..."  
  
"Do not worry, dear friend." She strolled gracefully up to him in her mules, the wrinkles of her summer dress rolling with every step. "I am merely a descendent from Jacob, like yourself I assume."  
  
"Really?" he blinked. "Which tribe?"  
  
"I couldn't tell you directly." She smiled sheepishly back. "Not even my father back in Africa knows. All we really know is that we are of Jewish blood and origin, since we have been reading Torah for as far back as I can remember."  
  
"One of the many lost tribes?" he inquired.  
  
"Possibly, yes." She nodded. "For the good book says, 'Behold, O my people, I will open your graves, and cause you to come up out of your graves, and bring you into the land of Israel. And ye shall know that I *am* the Lord..."  
  
"Ezekiel 37..." he said.  
  
"Exactly." She smiled warmly; the sheer joy within her seemed to beam from out her dark eyes. "And on that day, May 14th, 1948, the good Lord came through with his promise. Israel had been restored to her land! We have a place to call our own--finally--after so many years!"  
  
Chills ran down his spine at the thought, intense surges that shook him to the soul. Who would have thought, that words inscribed so many years before finally had come to pass merely a generation ago? He hadn't thought of such things before, when he had lived in west side of the city, when every day of his young life spent here was mere triviality. And yet now, that he finally was reunited with the Promised Land, lost days of old became bitter with regret.  
  
"Yeah..." he pressed his lips together firmly, grimily. "I know..."  
  
"Why the long face, my friend?" she angled her round head, the frizzy hair shifting its mass to the complementary side. "These are great times to be alive!"  
  
"True..." he nodded. "Wish I spent my time better last time..."  
  
"Do not worry, friend." She smiled brightly, genuinely. "Herod's temple may be nothing more than a wall nowadays, but I'm sure the spirit of the Lord still resides there, either atop the sacred mountain Mariah, or buried deep within the rock. Join me there in prayer, will you?"  
  
"Now?" a piece of his brow kinked.  
  
"Of course." She nodded. "You brought that talis to this sacred land not for nothing, did you?"  
  
"Nope." He carefully folded his arms behind the thin wool. "Sure as heck didn't."  
  
"Then come on, my American brother!" his heart tingled gently as her delicate fingers curled around the meat of his palm, trickling through the trunk of his body. "Let us take our leave to the holy place!"  
  
His teeth nearly avoided a face full of dirt, stumbling over his own feet as the girl took off for the green freckled wall.  
  
***  
  
Uzi was greatly pleased.  
  
"Benjamin," he said as he gazed at the monitor, its soft glow crowning the peak of the man's shoulder, "you never told Avi you were a computer whiz."  
  
"Avi, sir?" the head of cropped, dark curls turned toward him.  
  
"Oh--I believe I've heard you refer to him as the scarred man." He explained.  
  
"From what I've picked up on the vibes here, Sir," Benjamin replied, "it's simple don't ask, don't tell. Am I wrong to think that?"  
  
"Ah..." he nodded contently, "you are a quick study after all!"  
  
The cropped curls turned back around to its natural angle, perpendicular to the wide, soft light just a foot away.  
  
"I try my best, Sir." The curls bobbed gently.  
  
"That has yet to be proven, Ben." He angled his good arm behind his back, the heavier of the two drawn across his chest at a gentle angle by a sling as though it were a drapery. "Are all the active squads equipped properly?"  
  
"Yes, Sir." The curls bobbed again. "A TAR-21 for every available man with Jericho pistols for backup. Extra magazines a plenty."  
  
"What about Matt?"  
  
"His MK-19 fully loaded, and lenses polished." Ben continued. "And your Apache Longbow, as of now, is officially combat ready."  
  
"Ah..." he smiled, "above and beyond the call of duty, I see. And what of your current assignment?"  
  
"The ciphers protecting NORAD are officially cracked." The soldier's shoulders shrugged. "And I'm relaying the target data now. But sir, why on earth are we tracking a satellite for?"  
  
"The *shikse* and her bumbling buffoon may be out of the picture," he said grimly, "but I know that Bin-Mok is still in the mix. And if I know that little Yellow Devil, I know he'll use every trick in the book just to stop me. Everything's up to suspect and we're not taking chances anymore! We hit them fast and we hit them hard!"  
  
"But sir?" Ben protested softly. "Couldn't we search the last known area, set up a perimeter and whatnot?"  
  
"Knowing him," he shook his head gently, gravity tugged at the metal shards fiercely in his head, "he and that Nazi will be long gone. Once that satellite's down and out, he'll slip up. He'd have to."  
  
"True." The soft light moved upon the curls to the back of his head, and back to the front as Ben nodded. "And if they're stupid enough to still be at Dan Panorama, we've set up a bug in the hotel's switchboard, just in case."  
  
"Good thinking!" his brow perked. "Where's our bird at as of now?"  
  
"Our brand-spanking-new SR-71 is currently in the Exosphere, over Jerusalem right now. Locked on target, with a Pegasus ASAT missile armed and ready."  
  
"Lucky we got that thing out the hangar door at all." He smiled brilliantly. "Tell our boy to fire at will, and RTB upon confirmation."  
  
"Yes sir!"  
  
His lips parted for a big, toothy grin as the whiz reached for the radio; his heart leaped for joy as the man relayed the coordinates through the proper channel. It would take only mere seconds for the weak light show to commence, all for the people of Jerusalem.  
  
Oh how the people particular of that city never accepted him, nor accepted his work merely for their betterment. The Muslim hated him with violent prejudice; the religious Jew dismissed him as one of many loons, a borderline heretic, keeping aloof from his grand benevolence. Yet soon, they would come to realize that it was a big mistake, possibly the biggest mistake since they continued to pretend that Mt. Mariah was a sacred Islamic holy site.  
  
"And even if they don't come to grips with that simple fact," he chuckled softly, "then we're just going to have to make them. Don't you agree with that, Ben?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Sir?" the curly haired man swung the closest arm out behind him, letting it come to rest on the back of his chair. Using it as leverage, he moved his chest around as far as it would comfortably go. "I just got off the horn."  
  
"Oh--!" he blinked. "It's nothing. Never mind."  
  
"Yes sir..." the man's curly head sank gently between the rising shoulders, "whatever you say." 


	15. Chapter 15

15  
  
"Is it true?" The Ethiopian said with astonishment, so much bewilderment that Ron's hardened nerves began to wane. "That in America, you glide down these huge, massive peaks on a mere board?"  
  
"Well... yeah!" he shrugged as his lips took up the straw of his Grande- sized cola. Prayer had ended abruptly at the Western Wall, both their fragile stomachs let out loud, churning wail in the midst of a prayer--a really good prayer at that! It was such a shame that it had to end, but his gut couldn't bear the pain of its emptiness. Thank the Lord that she had brought her Peugeot, or they would have never had made it to the Bueno Nacho in time. "It's called a snowboard."  
  
"Many of your modern ways are new to me." Her thumbs twiddled idly, mere inches from the scrap paper that remained of her burrito. "I come from a small village from Ethiopia, where we still live off much of the land... if the Lord blesses us with rich harvest."  
  
Little claws clacked on the table as his little buddy scampered over to the girl's paper. His tongue turned red as he eagerly lapped up the rest of that delicious, precious sauce. The girl's thicker lips slid off of her teeth, as she pulled them into a big toothy grin.  
  
"Regardless of bountiful harvest or not." She giggled. "We have these little creatures a plenty. Except they typically don't favor fast food."  
  
"Oh yeah!" he blinked. "This little guy's named Rufus, and I love him to bits!"  
  
"But where on earth did you find him in your country?" she leaned toward him. "I heard it was illegal to own such pets?"  
  
"I guess in Middleton," he shrugged, "my hometown, all rules apply except to us. My dad's allergic to pretty much everything, but when the Smarty Mart sale came, I just so happened to stumble upon this little guy."  
  
"Aisle nine!" his buddy and him cheered together.  
  
"Sounds like a strange place." She angled her head. "This city of yours."  
  
"Not really." He smiled. "Well, if you ignore the creepy, nut-jobs that is."  
  
"Oh!" the girl perked her head up. "How rude of me! I have not yet introduced my self. My name is Robin, of the family Ata."  
  
"Robin?" his brow kinked. "For an Ethiopian?"  
  
"Ah..." she grinned sheepishly, slowly moving her gaze down to the table, "strange, yes? Believe me, you are not the first who thought in such a way. You see my father loves the birds of the sky. You would call him an ornithologist, as I have heard it said.  
  
"Before I was born, he had heard a story of a beautiful bird, native on your side of the world. He had seen a picture of it briefly. It was a small, chubby bird with a beautiful red breast beneath its dark wings. And when I was born, he thought that I was the most beautiful thing he had ever saw."  
  
"Just like the bird..." he nodded.  
  
"Exactly." She nodded back. "Even my boyfriend thinks so."  
  
"Oh really?" he grinned bigly.  
  
"Yes." She nodded. "He is a Jew like yourself. The odd thing is that he came to the Holy Land from France, but he spoke in the tongue of an American."  
  
His lips dropped into a thin, flat line as his heart skipped a single beat. "An American-Frenchman?"  
  
"Yes." Her lips pulled into a warm smile. "His name is Shia, and I love him so very much. He took me into his apartment as a sign of generosity, when I had no money left from the trip here. He taught me how to read and speak this English language, and even taught me how to drive. And as time progressed, we fell in love."  
  
"Now I remember you!" he moved his head back and forth, realization dawning on him like a clear day. "You were at the Dan Panorama for the Shmuck Avenue concert!"  
  
"Yes, I was." Her dark brow kinked. "But have I met you before?"  
  
"Nope," he shook his head, "we had never met. But I'm sure I saw you there, arguing with this Shia person on the stage."  
  
"Yes, I was." she pressed back squarely against the tiny, oval back of the chair. "But enough about myself, who might you be?"  
  
*Tread carefully... * his mind whispered.  
  
"Head!" he nodded quickly, punctuating with the folding of his arms tightly against his chest. "Richard Head's the name, and wrestling's the game!"  
  
The dark girl blinked--and the tops of her cheeks puffed, her eyes closed as she let out a snort of a laugh.  
  
"What?" he shrugged. "Can someone let me in on the joke?"  
  
"I may be a mere Ethiopian," she giggled softly, "but I've been around Shia enough to know how poor a name that is. I pity you."  
  
"Gee!" he frowned. "I feel *so* much better now."  
  
"With a name like that, I am surprised to realize that I haven't seen you there before." She said. "Where have you been hiding yourself?"  
  
"In my room, typically." He cautiously moved his eyes away, up towards the deep blue sky. "With me an my co-worker--her name's Jane, if you must know. We do a little promotional work for the GWA. In fact, after the little... uh--*impromptu* concert, we were about to announce briefly their tour throughout Europe."  
  
His head eased down properly, only to see the girl's head move shyly away from him, eyes at a repentant half-mast.  
  
"Why didn't you?" she asked rhetorically.  
  
"Well--for one thing--this wet freak shows up, and shoots the place up like Iraq!" both his hand slapped squarely upon the plastic table. Utensils rang out with a clattery discord. The buddy shot his head straight up, his forelegs bent in and his head moving about like a prairie dog in surprise. "She and the other couple were lucky we didn't get a bullet in between our headlights!"  
  
"I apologize..." she sighed heavily.  
  
"For what?" the tension loosened its squeeze in his muscles, his arms growing weak with gravity dragging them by the elbows. "You've done nothing wrong."  
  
"On behalf of my boyfriend's troublesome employer." Her locks of frizzy, stringy hair shook like the tail of a shaggy dog. "I know I have not done anything wrong, and neither had Shia. Unless, of course, you call a night with me a critical offense."  
  
"No, it's not." His brow furrowed. "What job on earth did he take that gives such treatment?"  
  
"He's with the vigilantes." She spat, as if the taste suddenly had become foul in her mouth. "The 'VSA', as I have heard the news media say."  
  
"I assume his superior isn't exactly an ideal person to be a neighbor with." He pressed gently his chest to the flat edge of the table.  
  
"That Simeon's a monster!" a corner of her mouth pulled her lips into a snarl. "He turns good people into demons, out fresh from the Devil's regions. I know that my Shia cannot *exactly* hold a candle up to Moses or Elijah, but he is not like that. The Major--his boss has corrupted him."  
  
*Drazen... you'll pay for that! * He thought, coming out his mouth like a flat, throaty grunt.  
  
"I feel bad for the people he terrorizes." She shook her head.  
  
"Huh?" he played it ignorant.  
  
"The Palestinians." She gazed at him squarely. "Or, as the Major calls them, the 'dirty-rotten-inbred-filth', accusing them of taking over the Israeli way of life. I'm not saying they are all innocent, I know a minority of them are trying to do exactly that, but--! ...I don't know anymore--I just DON'T!"  
  
Ron nodded. His heart seemed to gain a little more weight as the thought circled around in his mind. Not all of the Palestinians were bad, he knew that sincerely, but his heart longed for them, merely to ease their suffering--just a little, and help them to realize that peace isn't found in a vest--at the end of a gun.  
  
"They're not *exactly* the best treated people in the Middle East." He attempted to rationalize. "They have no jobs, no school, and barely get by from what jobs they can get. But you have to agree somewhat, they're treated by Israel--the *real* Israel--better than their own countries.  
  
"Back in 48', with the nation's independence, it was written in the Balfor Declaration that all native peoples were automatic citizens. We didn't expel them; they chose to reject it of their own accord. And suddenly, after a couple more wars, we find our Arab 'friends' expel a great deal of them from their own lands, and stash them over here."  
  
"Nothing more than to throw the proverbial gasoline on the flame." She noted, nodding in agreement.  
  
"So we try to take care of them." He shrugged. "We attempt to give them food, and some comfort away from their own countries who'd kill them at a bat of an eye. But the more we try to help, the more they hate us for it. Always blaming us for their own inadequacies, when their PLO is really to blame."  
  
"I can see your point clear as the day, Mr. Head." She nodded. "Their home countries throw them out on their ear, as you say; their twisted little government strips them of their dignity and aid. Yet with that in mind, still they pretend that we--the evil 'Zionist entity'--are to blame for all the suffering. Governments of the fallen world turn their eyes away from it, yet are quick to strike us with their mouths and their hands when we make a move."  
  
"We're all tired." He nodded.  
  
"That is the vigilantes' mentality..." She shook her head in exasperation. His heart stilled its slow beats, for only a moment, as his ears took in the language of his fathers--his mothers--and of all the people of his nation. It affected him every time.  
  
"'Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities; all is vanity.'" She quoted directly from the words of great King Solomon. Chills ran down his spine, chills that froze him directly to the core. "'What profit hath a man of all his labour which he taketh under the sun?'"  
  
"How true." He nodded solemnly.  
  
"They have given up the good fight." She bowed her head low. "And they have taken the way of the heathen. Oh--may the God of our fathers have mercy upon them."  
  
"Hmm..." Rufus stood there; unusually silent as though his little heart had miraculously drank in the aura that surrounded the tiny table. He just stood there upon his bare hind legs, black, beady eyes gazing endlessly and his tiny nose without a twitch.  
  
--He heard something burning in the sky behind, as if a fighter plane had kicked on the afterburners on its pass by.  
  
Something caught the corner of his eye, something moving at a high rate of speed that left a trail of white upon a field of blue. He blinked, and his eyes cleared onto Robin's image. The dark girl snapped her head up, as if someone snapped their fingers right beside her ear. Her eyes moved slowly in her head with thick lips agape, from top left to the bottom right in spasmodic jerks.  
  
"What is that?" she asked distantly. Others nearby too turned their eyes to the sky. A tanned, dark woman put her hands upon her face, fingers capping her mouth and the bridge of her nose beneath wide, awestruck eyes. Feeling as if left out of a great show in the heavens, slowly he moved the top of his trunk around.  
  
*What the--!? *  
  
Ribbons of white radiated from a single focus in the sky in soft wisps of vapor, being pulled to the earth by tiny, white dots at an exponential rate. He had seen nothing like it before in his short life, for the real, yet it looked so familiar. But where exactly had he seen if before? On TV maybe, or in a movie theater perhaps, where the spaceship blew to pieces in the atmosphere like frigid water in a blast furnace--  
  
*Holy... cow! *  
  
***  
  
Something foul was a foot in the country, so the news anchor acted on the small television. He bowed head of messy, brown locks into the palms of his creased hands, burring it almost in sheer disgust at what had befallen him. Amazing what mere words on the papers littering his desk could do, other than create a mess. With the crestfallen man in front, juxtaposed behind on the wall were photos of quite a few people, all of different ages and of various walks of life. Strangely enough, the tanned, Bedouin faces barely outnumbered those of the others, typically of eastern Slavic descent.  
  
*I don't like this... *  
  
He turned his eyes away from the puzzler on the television at the sound of soft footsteps coming his way. His love took a seat on the opposite corner of the bed. The seat of her black skirt sank with a creak into the mattress, the hem of her light green tank caressing the tip of her waist as she pulled it smoothly over her head.  
  
"It's been about a half hour since Sadie had last checked in." He said plainly. "Are you all packed?"  
  
"Yeah..." the blonde let out a sigh as she negotiated her bra straps underneath the wider ones of her tank. "My bag's sitting on that little luggage cot by the door. But I wish it could be by your duffel for just another night."  
  
He nodded.  
  
"Can't you reconsider?" she folded her hands upon her dark lap as she gazed at him sincerely, glistening eyes shining brightly below the large band-aid angled on her crown.  
  
"I'm sorry, Tara." He looked away. "It's out of my hands.... Well-- err--hand, at least."  
  
"Whose going to help you around?" the bed shifted awkwardly side to side, his love inching closer on the bedspread.  
  
"Hershel's having someone sent over." He said. "Don't worry about me. Just enjoy what's left of the summer, safe and sound back home."  
  
"But what'll be so great about it, if you're not there?"  
  
"Tara..." he inched himself closer. "You know I love you deeply, right?"  
  
She bowed her head shyly. "Yes."  
  
"Tara, look at me." His good arm crossed the span of his body, the joint aching a bit as he pushed it further beyond the typical range of motion. His fingers moved upon her jaw gently, caressing the smooth skin as they curled around the other side of her jaw. Resistant at the start, but he felt the tension in her muscles give way to him. Her lids batted parted for those beautiful, glistening eyes. "I love you very much, T. But things have gotten complicated. I want you to be safe, and the only place I know that's safe is back stateside."  
  
"But Yune--!" she protested.  
  
"Tara--just listen." He exclaimed gently. "You don't want me stuffed in a morgue, and I don't want you suffering the same fate. Drazen's a monster, and he'll kill either one of us without a second thought. As long as you're safe, I'm willing to stake it out with the others."  
  
"But--!"  
  
"Tara..." he frowned, "please.... For me?"  
  
The blonde shook her head fiercely. Her wavy locks swishing in a messy tangle of yellow, the corners of her lips dragging them into a sour frown.  
  
"Fine..." she whispered quietly. "Just--come back alive!"  
  
"I promise." He nodded.  
  
"Yune," her hands wringed in her dark lap quickly, "just one more thing."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
He moved himself a little closer, the fabric of his pants grazing the soft cloth of her skirt. She gazed at him squarely, her sour lips curving into a gentle, warm smile that made his heart quicken. Her soft, cool palms cupped around the line of his jaw, the thumbs rubbing at his cheeks as her thin fingers came to rest on the pulsating sides of his neck.  
  
"Kiss me." She grinned.  
  
"I should have known." He smiled back, and the crowns of their heads rubbed together as they melted into each other's tender embrace. Their lips merely grazed each other, their breath heated with passion as they leaned in to seal the deal--  
  
--*Ring...! *  
  
"Pf--" The blonde giggled softly. "Phone...!"  
  
"*Ugh...! *" He sighed loudly, not even attempting to conceal the frustration in his voice. "Better not be a wrong number! I swear!"  
  
The springs let out a stifled creak as he pushed himself off of the bed, a huff in his heavy step as he stormed for that irritating device. His knuckles popped, the sinew flicking at the bone underneath his skin as he snatched the receiver viciously from the cradle.  
  
"Yes...?" he sighed quite loudly, even before the receiver was pressed firmly against his ear.  
  
"Yune," that very boyish voice crackled out of the phone, "it's Wade. Got a minute?"  
  
"Can it wait?" the accumulation of his utter frustration came together in a single grunt. "I'm a little tied up at the moment."  
  
"Be nice, Yune." His love countered sternly. His eyes took a lap around the circumference of his sockets.  
  
"Alright...!" he let out a low, humming grunt. "You've got a minute."  
  
"Good."  
  
"Now, what do you want?"  
  
"Yune, the Kimmunicator satellite's been shot down!"  
  
He blinked. "What?"  
  
"I know it sounds farfetched, but my readings don't lie." The boy said with calmed exclamation, the panic crawling out gradually in his voice. "One second, I had a clear map of the Har Ramon, next thing I know-- KA-BOOM! The readouts went haywire!"  
  
"Couldn't it simply be electrical interference?" he inquired. "You know the sun's been acting unusual this year."  
  
"I've run that scenario a few times." The boy explained. "The numbers crunched just don't add up to it. I came to the current conclusion when I switched on the news channel. They ran a segment, featuring what looked like a spacecraft disintegrating in the upper atmosphere exactly where the satellite's last known location was reported."  
  
"Are you actually saying it was shot down?"  
  
"That exactly it." The boy confirmed. "And, I don't think I need to tell you what else the news network aired, do I?"  
  
"Maybe you should." He stole a glance over at the blonde upon the bed. She sat there idly, eyes glued to the television, her toes like cat claws, scratching at the carpet for her low-heel pumps a couple feet away. "Everything here's in Hebrew or Arabic."  
  
"There's not an easy way to put this, Yune," the kid said, "so I'm just going to say it."  
  
"Go ahead." He nodded. "I'm used to shit hitting the fan."  
  
"A terrorist group in the upper West Bank had executed a group of Israelis they kidnapped." His throat tightened, and he pushed down a wad as the kid's words gained meaning in his mind. He heard a distinct, hollow sigh resounding in his ear, from the other side of the line way back in the States. "Men, women, and some children... *man*--how could someone--*ANYONE* stoop that low!?"  
  
"You're asking me?" he threw the question right back.  
  
"No." the Webmaster said quietly. "But I don't know what's more disturbing: the fact the terrorists did it, or the fact that the news media could care less over it. They played it for only a measly 30 seconds before the entertainment section came up! I'm supposed to be a genius, and even I can't answer that!"  
  
"Maybe, you should ask them yourself." He said.  
  
"Bah!" the kid spat. "Like that's ever going to happen! Damned media moguls! And I'm sure I don't need to tell you about certain repercussions this tragedy's going to have."  
  
"Yeah," he clenched his teeth behind shut lips, "Drazen will be taking the men for some good old fashioned target practice."  
  
"Precisely."  
  
"Does Kim know?"  
  
"I just got off the phone with her before I called you." He said. "She's getting herself ready to search for the thugs' GHQ this afternoon. With the thugs... oh--let's say, 'doing their sworn duty', it'll be the perfect time. Sad, isn't it?"  
  
"We're all actors, and the world's a freaking dilapidated stage."  
  
"Such a positive outlook on life, Yune." The kid joked softly.  
  
"Not the time, Wade." He frowned.  
  
"Right... *hmm! *" The boy rescinded in a withdrawn, grunting hum. "All right. I'm going to bed. Just keep yourself alive till the next time I give you a call, okay?"  
  
"Already done." He nodded. "Good night, Wade."  
  
The receiver made a static clatter in his ear, letting out a tiny *click* before he removed it from his head, gently letting the piece of plastic down upon its cradle. He took another glance at his girl, which had finally managed to slip her feet inside her dark pumps. A mass of her hair shifted to one side as she angled her head by the neck, eyes gazing at him curiously.  
  
"What's going on, Yune?" she asked.  
  
"There's been an 'incident' in the upper West Bank." He said carefully. "VSA are on the move. Till either Hershel comes for you or Sadie gets back, I want you in this room."  
  
"Okay." She nodded, and she pushed herself to her elevated feet, strolling over to him with longing in her eyes. "But before I go, can we pick up where we left off?"  
  
His chest pulsed quickly, quickening at the sheer touch of her hands upon his shoulders. Gingerly, she pressed him against the nearby wall, making him back up a couple steps.  
  
"I don't want to go anywhere." She smiled warmly. "I want you all to myself, my big, strong man!"  
  
"As do I, T." his good arm snaked around her slender waist, her muscles tensing beneath that perfect skin. He drew her closer, eyes perfectly even and locked, thanks in large part to her heels. "As do I..."  
  
And everything just seemed to... melt away instantly.  
  
"I told you those shoes would come in handy someday, T."  
  
"Shut up and kiss me, Yune."  
  
***  
  
No matter how much scopolamine Uzi managed to choke down, little did the feeling of drowsy, light-headedness wane. It felt as if it had been getting worse and worse each day since Prague, and his senses seemed to drift a little further out of reach each time the room--the world began to drunkenly twirl around.  
  
"*Ugh... Dreck! *" He moaned quietly. "Not again!"  
  
"Major Drazen, Sir." That flat, unwavering tone of that burn victim called for him, just beyond the closest set of the armory's double doors.  
  
"What is it, Avi?" the room around sloshed heavily side to side, as he tried vigilantly to shake utter sense back into his groggy brain. "Don't you have something else to tend to?"  
  
"Tank Man's already got the 'propaganda' covered, and Solomon Rex is near completion as we speak." He said emotionlessly. "But Sir, we've completed the trace of the Korean's last known phone call."  
  
"Really...?" he batted his eyelids quickly. Colors began to filter in gradually with every blink.  
  
"Indeed, Sir." The scarred man stepped into a better light, the halogens above playing havoc upon his burns. The shadows cast turned the half of the face into a field of large boils, ready to burst seemingly at the touch. "Your plan worked flawlessly! Dan Panorama Tel Aviv, room 402."  
  
"Excellent!" he hopped off the ammunition crate in a drunken stupor, the dim room sloshing and turning about in opposite directions of his movement, so quickly the snacks found their way back up his gut. "Oh... boy...!"  
  
"Do you need more scopolamine, Sir?"  
  
"No." he shook his head very slowly. "I just had a bottle a few minutes ago. Should take effect *sometime* while we're on route, at least!"  
  
"On route, Sir?"  
  
"Yes...." The dim, blurry room ceased its crazed twirl around him. His bearings had become straight enough he could stand up straight in a moderate hunch. Curses at the good doctor came out under-breath. "Damn drug!"  
  
"How do you mean, Sir?" the scarred man pressed.  
  
"Pull the active troops off the current objective." He said. "Redirect them to the Charles Clore Park, and put them on standby. No one moves in unless I give the word. Where's Matt?"  
  
"He's on the other side of the armory," the man gestured accordingly, to the farthest circle of light adjacent from him, "with Ben tweaking the SWARM, and having the launcher loaded."  
  
"Put them together." He said. "I want them in on this mission!"  
  
"Is that such a good idea, Sir?" the man cocked an eyebrow, what the fire had generously left unscathed. "He's been here for only a couple days at most."  
  
"It'll be an unofficial initiation." He nodded. "If he wants in on our operations so badly, we'll just see how he can cope with what we really do!"  
  
The good piece of the man's crown perked, eyes just barely open as he let out a quick, little hum.  
  
"Hmm..." the scarred man said, "that may not be such a bad idea after all, Sir."  
  
"Get Shia in the hanger on the double!" he exclaimed. "I want the Apache ready for take off. I want every available man here active, and on route for the target site! Have them set up a perimeter once there."  
  
"Yes Sir!" the scarred man unrolled into a straighter stand, saluting him appropriately. Uzi countered with a weaker salute. "Anything else, Sir?"  
  
"Just one thing, Avi."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I needed it 20 minutes ago!"  
  
"Sir!"  
  
***  
  
"God!" Tara made her eyes take another lap around her sockets, as her man exclaimed to the top-middle of his lungs. He paced before her, back and forth, to and fro with no sign of exhaustion in sight. His odd Daewoo pistol lay before the laptop at the ready, just in case. "It's been close to a half hour already! Where the heck's that damn car?"  
  
"Technically, it's an SUV, Hon." She shrugged in the midst of laying her head down upon the mattress.  
  
"It could be a damn Gremlin for all I care, right now!" he grunted. "Where the heck is it?"  
  
"Yune, would you calm down?" Kimberly's voice called out from the door's unlatching, over the rackety handle as it turned. The lumber's travel from its frame to its stopper became smoothly quiet as the handle snapped back.  
  
The auburn passed through quietly in her boots, the legs of her olive cargos swishing against each other as she walked. Her gloved fingers combed through her hair smoothly, the extreme most ends of her mane barely escaping the snatching door as it worked its way back into the frame with a rattle.  
  
"You're going to wear a trench in the carpet if you don't stop."  
  
"Mission time already, Kim?" She grinned.  
  
"Not exactly." The girl shook her mane gently. "Sadie isn't back yet. And even with her around, I don't know how I can move my big equipment around discretely."  
  
"And what exactly is this equipment?" she rolled her self off of the bed, into a hunch. "Anything illegal?"  
  
"I've seen it." Yune had finally managed to plant his walking shoes firmly in the carpet. "A .50-caliber sniper rifle made by Barrett. Makes holes so large, you're sure as hell won't get up from it."  
  
"Pretty much, yeah." The auburn nodded as though it were trivial. "Don't know when I'll use it, but I'm sure it'll come in pretty handy.  
  
"And..." the Velcro of her right cargo pocket, the one that appeared to be cancerous tumor, and her fingers wiggled their way inside. The bulge became nothing more than a flat piece of cloth again as the auburn dragged out a large shiny, silvery revolver with a little snub for a barrel. "I got this little puppy for backup. Brought enough extra rounds for two cylinders, just in case."  
  
"Who on earth would give you that thing?" She blinked. "I can barely work a stick shift, and you don't see Yune over there, handing the keys over to his Mustang!"  
  
"I did a couple of times!" he looked at her, frowning softly.  
  
"True." She nodded, smiling bitter-sweetly. "But at least I didn't crash it!"  
  
The Asian let out a flat grunt, drawn out in a slow, short drawl. His almond eyes almost dark slits as he furrowed his brow.  
  
"I'm not even going there..." he moved his head away. "Do you have the locator card?"  
  
Kimberly simply tapped her other cargo pocket with the little barrel of the gun, where there was a smaller mass protruding from the bottom of the pocket.  
  
"Right here!" she said. "With the battery contact."  
  
"Good." He turned his back to the auburn, walking slowly for the window. He pressed the pinky side of his good hand to the window, making a makeshift bill as he moved his crown against the side of his index. "Better pocket the piece, Kim and get your bag ready, T. I think I see your lift coming down the street."  
  
Kim stuffed the revolver carefully into the pocket from which it sat, smoothing the flap over it with the gloved tips of her fingers.  
  
"Already done." Her neck let out a little crack as she moved her head about. "I'll be getting the rifle. T, get your stuff and meet Sadie in the parking lot."  
  
"Okay Kim." She nodded.  
  
The fiery mane whipped behind her as the girl spun harshly on her boots. The handle rattled as Kim turned it, the door squeaking just a bit as she slipped through the little opening she made for herself right before it clamped back shut. Her gnarled, wrinkly bag laid waiting for her on its little cot, right next to the door.  
  
"Well..." she leaned a bit too forward as she pushed herself to her feet, stabilizing her body with her arms a tad as she evened pressure on her pumps. "*Whoa--. * I... guess this is it, you know."  
  
"I know." He turned on a dime, or a quarter at least.  
  
"I'd better be going now." She bowed her head. Water began to seep between her eyelids, where they made a thin crevice. "Just don't worry about me. I'll be perfectly fine back home... alone."  
  
The Asian let out a soft chuckle; the patting of his steps intensifying as he drew closer, and closer till his chest touched the very apex of her brow. His dry, firm fingers curled around the shape of her chin unevenly, and her head pitched up merely at his whim alone. She looked at him, gazed at him, and never had he looked so handsome or loving for as long as she known him.  
  
"That's usually my line." He smiled warmly as he thumbed at her moist cheeks.  
  
"Yune..."  
  
"T..."  
  
"Please remember your promise." She moved him closer a step. "Please...?"  
  
"I will, Tara." He nodded gently. "I'll be sure to keep it."  
  
"Thanks..." she nestled her head between his pecks.  
  
"Don't I get a goodbye hug?" he asked.  
  
"Duh!" she giggled hysterically, and her arms moved around his trunk with quick speed, squeezing at him like a constrictor. The corners of her smiling lips pulled at them harder as her ears caught that slow, hollow groan that came from out his throat.  
  
"Oh--I love you, Yune!" she smiled brightly with her eyes closed, just basking in the sheer warmth of his body.  
  
"*OH! *" The Asian let out through her tight grip. "I love--*AH*--you too... Tara!"  
  
--"*DRECK! * I HATE YOU SHIA!!"  
  
Her eyes popped open; her arms waned in their grip around her man's fleeting trunk. The weight of her body nearly carried her forward; the balls of her angled feet strained to keep her standing before she moved her trunk back upright. Her eyes darted over to the Korean at the desk, his pistol missing from its black surface.  
  
"WELL SORRY, SIR!" that boyish voice fluctuated over a medium of radio static.  
  
The sunlight in the room suddenly pulsated to quickened pace, going from bright to shade in mere hundredths of seconds through a chopping--a ridiculously loud chopping, as though someone hovered a helicopter right outside her window.  
  
--The door let out a splintering crack, one that powered barely over the thrumming chopping sound. She turned--and in stumbled the auburn, nearly tripping over her own feet as the large piece of wood gave way. In the strained grasp of one of her arms was a huge, freaking rifle with some kind of angled box at the barrel's business end.  
  
"YUNE!" the girl called, and the man turned--  
  
She screamed only in her mind; her mouth a stunned agape--when a green wing, a chubby, green wing dropped into view. Its underbelly filled to the proverbial brim with armaments of every kind, possibly all with her name programmed straight in it.  
  
*Oh no...! * 


	16. Chapter 16

(In the words of the great Jim Carrey, "I... CAN'T... LIE!")  
  
16  
  
"God damn!" Uzi's fist nearly smashed through the console as he pounded at that infernal button. "SHIA! Why the fuck didn't you tell me the megaphone was on!? Those cheeky little assholes are probably halfway down the fucking building by now!"  
  
"Well, excuse me, SIR!" the pilot exclaimed from the safety of his rear seat, perched above his own seat. "You never asked me about it! I'd thought you make another one of your own little, flyby speeches that you just--*have*--to make!"  
  
"NOT ON A STAKEOUT," his shards bounced awkwardly against the headrest of his seat, "YOU DUMB SHIT! Now hurry up and acquire the target before we lose them!"  
  
"Yes, sir...!" the button man let out a sigh of exasperation--and his stomach felt all the more heavier as the 'copter shifted severely to the right, all under the cocky curly top's control.  
  
"*Uh... *" that drunken dance of the world around began to play for him, spinning and tumbling about right before his very eye. "*Oh--! * AND TAKE IT EASY ON THE YAW, MAN!"  
  
"But sir!"  
  
"DON'T CALL ME SIR, BOY!" he yelled to the top of his lungs. "DO IT!"  
  
"Ugh!" the cocky pilot grunted behind him, and Uzi didn't even try to quell his disgust, but it lost the little importance it had in his mind. He couldn't be side tracked, not even distracted--not now. He snatched at the microphone, nearly tearing it from its holder on the bruised console as he thumbed at the button.  
  
"All units!" he exclaimed, the microphone point blank from his sneering jaws. "Be on alert! Our targets are on the run, possibly dressed in our own colors! Search all vehicles leaving the area; face check all personnel encountered! Repeat: targets are on the run!"  
  
"Rodger that!" A faceless voice crackled back at him through the static. "Alpha Unit out!"  
  
"Bravo unit out!" a second interjected.  
  
"Charlie unit out!" a third interjected.  
  
"Delta unit, out and about!" that smart-assed vehicle program poked at him carelessly, safely out of his grasp.  
  
"Shia," he took in a deep breath, as he gently set the microphone back down upon the console, "remind me to have that smart ass reprogrammed, would you?"  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
***  
  
"*OH! * Knew I should have worn my other pair!" Tara grunted through the pain, as it burned its way up her legs from her sore ankles. The heels of her pumps clopped down on the cement awkwardly, her ankles straining to keep her up and running as Yune latterly dragged her through the parking garage by the hand.  
  
"Come on, T!" her driven man didn't bother to look behind him, over the shoulder of his oddly outstretched arm. "We're almost there!"  
  
"I think I see Sadie!" Kim exclaimed, as she huffed like a trained grunt with that large rifle in her thin arms, panting her way toward the red, boxy SUV that rolled their way. "Come on!"  
  
At those very words, the Asian picked up the paced, her angled feet barely keeping up with the tempo of his long, hurried strides--  
  
--*Crack! *  
  
The heel of her right seemed to drop about an inch too far, the sole of her foot flat against the ground with the exception of her angled toes, curled up at a strange angle. She stole a glance behind her as she hobbled for their red-and-yellow ticket out, and her eyes caught a thick chunk of dark matter, rolling gently to a stop on the dirty cement.  
  
"DAMN IT!" She pressed her left arch against the heel of her right, her right foot forced out of the shoe as Yune dragged her on. "THOSE WERE ITALIAN!"  
  
"I'll get you another pair sometime!" Yune said distractedly. She kicked left one off, barely hearing clatter beside the right one through the sharp screech of the vehicle's tires, the purr of the large engine nearly swallowing his voice. "Now come on!"  
  
The sheer cold tore their way through her soles, stabbing at the meat of her legs but she carried on somehow. Yune made sure of it.  
  
"Sadie!" Kimberly called through the still air. "Over here!"  
  
"Kim?" the vehicle said quizzically. "What's going on around here?"  
  
"No time!" the auburn yanked the driver's door at the sound of its click. The rifle went airborne for a second, arcing in the air with the barrel aimed at the ceiling--and it bounced, the barrel swinging for the ground as it disappeared behind the back of the passenger seat. The red body leaned to the right as the girl hopped behind the wheel. "We've got to go!"  
  
"You're telling me!" the vehicle countered with that legendary sass she heard so often about. "I'm coming down the road, minding my own business, and then these Hummers zip past me like they mean something! Thank whatever for that chip the Doc installed, or they'd all be scrap metal by now!"  
  
"Bad move on Freeman's part!" Yune noted, flipping the back of the front passenger seat forward. The death vice around her wrist waned into a gentle grasp around her palm. "Easy up, Tara."  
  
She chuckled softly as she stepped onto the running bar, her feet thankful to be off of that ice block of pavement the second her soles touched the matted carpet.  
  
"Now you're telling me." She smiled weakly. Her butt was barely planted in the seat before the back of the front seat was locked back upright. The couple's bags flew in the air like the big cannon next to her, landing squarely atop the rifle's frame with a crinkle of fabric.  
  
Yune hopped in, the car rocking gently as his door slammed back into the doorframe.  
  
"Uh, could someone explain to me what the heck's going on?" the dark green bars on the console's thick LCD screen fluctuated at the sound of that whinny, sassy voice. She could just barely see it over the crest of the knobby gearshift.  
  
"No time, Sadie." Kim said sternly, her voice thick with grimace. "Whatever you have to do to disable that chip, do it. We're going to need your weapons systems primed and ready."  
  
"Just hit the green switch just above my readout, and consider it done." The vehicle said. Kim fingered the forest green button beside the cigarette lighter with a gloved index, the button letting out a little click like a push pen. The auburn's right leg sank gently in the seat just as Sadie began to lurch ahead.  
  
"Tara!" her heart jumped, its beats quickened at the sound of her name. "I want that rifle locked and loaded now!"  
  
She nodded quickly, her left hand seizing it by the barrel as she cumbersomely maneuvered the squared muzzle to the left side of the open cabin. The gun made a heavy clack as she slammed the bolt with a grunt, a heavy slug chambered in its last cocoon, ready to blossom in some poor thug's chest--  
  
She shook her head furiously at the thought, her brain rattled the terrible idea to pieces and her guts moved in her belly as Kim negotiated the SUV into a three-point-turn.  
  
"Been practicing, I see?" Sadie said.  
  
"You could say that." Flat was Kim's reply as she hanged a gentle right, her right leg shifting a bit to the left as the SUV eased its lurch before the wide orifice that led outside, stopping at the brim where the darker pavement turned a lighter gray. "All right, Tara, give me that gun."  
  
Her heart crept its way up her throat, but a heavy swallow pushed it back down her chest as she apprehensively turned the lengthy beast over to the auburn by the odd stock.  
  
"Safety's on." She said aloud. "Like Yune showed me."  
  
"Good girl." Kim said as she stood up awkwardly, setting down the heavy barrel upon the top of the windshield's frame about halfway with the rest hanging out. The patch of dark cloth upon the auburn's shoulder tightened just a bit, as did the back of her right glove on the pistol grip.  
  
"T," she could barely make out the tip of his nose as it touched the back of his seat, "when the bullets start flying, I want you to keep your head down at all times, okay?"  
  
"Okay!" She nodded wholeheartedly--and when the auburn unleashed a mammoth blast from her rifle, Yune didn't need to tell her twice as her cheek hit against the seat, hands capping tensely over the back of her head. Her body slid against the back of the large bench seat quickly when the roar of the engine swallowed up the blast in a crescendo.  
  
***  
  
Ben saw a pop of small fireball from the dim garage opening--before something exploded out of the grill of a Hummer, one from the furthest group down the line. Bits and pieces of olive-green metal flew every which way like fragmentations of an M65--and a blur of red and yellow tore out of the garage exit, wheels barreling for the furthest group relentlessly.  
  
*K-K-KRASHH!! *  
  
The furthest group of vehicles took off, spinning wildly away from each other as the car barreled through--olive drab men went yelling, screaming, and diving out of their transports' aimless routes. The sound of the targets' engine dissipated in the cool breeze dramatically, to a near silence through the men's scramble for their Hummers.  
  
"Enjoying the show, Ben?" Matt asked rhetorically. "Better have, because it's about to get really bumpy real soon!"  
  
He strangled the life out of the grips of his UZI, and his heart felt as though it would burst suddenly from his chest.  
  
"Hang on to your butt, Kid!" Matt said eagerly. "'Cause this rust bucket's got a date with his girl! Just man the turret, and I'll do the rest!"  
  
--He nearly fell out of the passenger seat, tumbled out of the vehicle as Matt made a swift u-turn, accelerating out of the last curve with great speed.  
  
"Whoa...!" his fingers tore at the handle of the door--the "oh--shit" handle, he coined it.  
  
"Oh yeah!" the vehicle chuckled sheepishly. "You might want to buckle up for this!"  
  
***  
  
Something exploded down below him; one of the Hummer vehicles at one an extreme side to the north has something smash into it. Pieces of olive painted grill scattered like fragments from a glass pane thrown onto the cement, a wisp of gray trailed down from a little bit above it, circling around its front as it entered the new cavity. It was done for--  
  
Something tore out of the garage, streaking its colors of red and yellow behind it like a bat straight out of Hell itself! The dead vehicle and the one nearby seemed to fishtail out of the way own their own as the red and yellow devil barreled straight through it.  
  
The wounded vehicle quickly recovered, overcorrecting itself a bit as it circled back around, leaving two black skid marks behind on the pavement as it tore down the road in pursuit. Matt and the other vehicle swiftly tore ass down a parallel route.  
  
"And--they--are--off!" Uzi perked his strange brow. "Come on, Shia. Let's get the lead out!"  
  
"Sir!" the pilot acknowledged emotionlessly--and his guts felt like they were swimming behind his abdomen muscles, gaining a little bit in weight as his button man pitched the nose of the 'copter down, pressing against his spine as the costal buildings of Tel Aviv drew right underneath him.  
  
He scooped up the microphone just after his innards got acquainted with his backbone.  
  
"*Oh... *" he batted his eyes ferociously, "*uh...! * All units! You have authorization for lethal force! Fire at will, and engage targets as they appear!"  
  
A voice crackled at him through the custom CB, right as his thumb lifted off of the button.  
  
"Alpha unit's out of action, sir!" it exclaimed.  
  
His eyes rolled. "I can see that perfectly, Avi! Drive the target through the nearest checkpoint! I want little collateral damage until they're through!"  
  
"Sir!" the static crackle of the radio engulfed the man's voice, before he placed the microphone back upon its cradle.  
  
"Shia," vertebrae cracked a bit as he rolled his head around, "Maintain visual contact at all times, but do not engage the target until you're authorized."  
  
"Or until we both get bored?" the pilot said.  
  
"Hmm... yeah." He shrugged. "One of the two. I don't really care."  
  
"Consider it done, Major."  
  
"Don't worry," he smirked through his nauseous, pursed lips, "I... *uh-- * do!"  
  
The buildings below were like the sands of the nearby beach, blending into one tanned smear as the Apache flew through the sky on its warpath, like the great savage that bared the name. Regardless when Yune's escape burst into flames or it ran out of gas, it would only be a matter of time when it finally did, and he'd be there to help coax it along. He had to be! And even if he weren't--by some crazy fluke of the heavens or of the earth--Avi would be glad to substitute.  
  
"Maybe he should break in that newcomer too," he said, "get him all nice and dirty."  
  
"What was that, Mr. U?" his pilot behind him replied. "I didn't quite catch that."  
  
"Oh--!" he shook a little sense back into his brain. "Nothing. Carry on, solider!"  
  
***  
  
David was bored; a pain throbbed in the forefront of his head, up and to his right where the hairline touched the tip of his crown. He let out a yawn, the very last sound coming out his mouth like a humming groan, barely caught by his ears over the chopper's rotors.  
  
"*Hmm... *" his eyes winced as they closed, the throbbing intensifying in his brow, "...This--*oh*--is David Schlitz with TV Channel 2... *uh*--coming to you live from above beautiful Tel Aviv, mere minutes away from the grand Mediterranean Sea."  
  
--His hand smashed against his head, the heel of his palm pressing relentlessly against the throbbing. Something felt like it wanted to burst straight out of his skull when the anchor assaulted his ears from the other side of the line, flooding the words of triviality into his head in one giant exclamation.  
  
"So how's the weather there, Dave?" the anchor asked simply.  
  
His face contorted and twisted into the straightest position they could become.  
  
"--Ease up with the voice there." His teeth pressed against each other, the enamel grinding gently together. "I've got myself a hell of a headache."  
  
"Sorry to hear that, Dave." The anchor replied with dubious empathy-- like the twit had actually been in the news 'copter for more than a measly hour. He never did like that prick to begin with.  
  
"Thank you." He smiled in fakery. "It's a nice day here in Tel Aviv. The sun's shining, birds are singing, and traffic over here is great. Hardly anyone's on the road."  
  
"It is *Shabbat*, of course." The prick noted without solicitation. "Like you didn't know that already, right Dave?"  
  
An eye began to spasm and twitch just as the lids parted. "Well duh!" a piece of his upper lip followed suit. "A time for rest and relaxation! Just kick off your shoes, prop up your feet, and have a nice long rest, cause Lord knows you'll need it come tomorrow. I see that most have taken up that advice as I glance at the road below. I see a few motorists taking it easy with their commutes, and I also see--"  
  
Zooming far down below was a single vehicle, nothing more than the size of a red pill bug from his perch, barreling down the streets like dragster when it didn't make these crazy, suicidal turns at breakneck speed. From its far right side on its top half, small explosions of white flashed like... he didn't know what to call it. Gunshots maybe, but there were no real ways for his eyes to judge from the current altitude.  
  
Trailing a few yards away from it were two greenish vehicles, flashes of white erupting out its side just like with the red one--both sides-- flashing in an intermittent pace.  
  
"Well, aren't you going to tell us, Dave?" the prick leaned.  
  
"It looks like we've got a few vehicles, reenacting 'Grand Theft Auto'--or even 'Mafia' down there!" he exclaimed--and his troublesome headache simply quelled after the last spoken word. "A red vehicle's tearing ass down the streets, making crazy turns erratically. In pursuit, we have two green vehicles--I think they might be the VSA!"  
  
"You mean the vigilantes, Dave." his heart hammered quickly in his chest. The organ burning in a singeing anger at the anchor's pompousness, how he always held himself in a sanctimonious aura of his own right. An aura where he may judge others irresponsibly, striving for that elusive impunity as with most wannabe moguls of the news. "Judge, jury, and executioner! Wake up and smell the Matzo, Dave! And will someone, call the Knesset--or even the police!? Those nutcases and their crazed general should be stopped!"  
  
*At least someone's trying to solve our problems with our 'neighbors', * the thought was a burning crack in his brain, *while you sit pretty and pretentious when you're not cowering behind your news desk! *  
  
"I believe their pragmatic leader's a Major." He noted. "But it doesn't change the fact that we've got two vehicles in hot pursuit of their target. ...And I believe I see a third straggling quite a distance behind! And let me note that the nearest checkpoint into the West Bank is mere miles away from our current location--"  
  
To his left, through his window just beyond his peripheral view of sight, a sliver of olive sliced through the blue sky. He twisted his neck, moving his face square at the glass, a few inches away from the tip of his nose--  
  
His lids parted further, taking muscles around the sockets with it.  
  
"What is it, Dave?" the anchor asked.  
  
"Well, speak of the Devil himself!"  
  
***  
  
Abu pressed his lips into a grim, thin line as he watched the Zionist news channel. Not that he minded the Palestinian controlled television, yet there was only so much inspiration a man could take, courtesy of their fearless, jabber-jawed leader. The violence, the madness, the call to arms for the liberation of Palestine; he wasn't sure how much he could take of it, and it was about to come to a messy, bloody head as the bloodthirsty, rabid dogs of Zion edged closer to his neighborhood.  
  
Handguns and rifles clacked and clattered all around him in his tiny apartment dwelling, each bullet, every magazine, and every available weapon crafted and loaded for the single most important work of its time, the utter destruction of the Zionist entity! But this time seemed... he couldn't describe it. Something about this time didn't sit right with his stomach.  
  
"What is wrong, Father?" he glanced at his son, the black haired man with whom he is proud to have conceived. For if it were not for him, he would have had a bullet between his eyes, courtesy of those disgusting barbarians, sniping away from their wall which they so proudly constructed.  
  
"Nothing, my son." He shook his head. "It is nothing."  
  
"You mustn't worry, Father, or even get distracted!" his son wiped his hand briskly on his denim pants. It left a greasy smear of black on the blue cloth, but he continued with his work on his Soviet rifle. "The Jews near us even as we speak! We must be ready to strike them!"  
  
"I don't know about this, son." He combed his fingers through his hair, thick and greasy to the aged touch. "Something does not feel right about this assault."  
  
"Maybe you ate something that didn't agree with your stomach." The Soviet rifle made a loud clack as his son pulled a handle back. "I hope that you'll feel better soon, Father. And again, you shouldn't worry about me. If I can kill one Jew, then Allah will gladly lift me up and pass me through the gates of paradise! You should be happy for me."  
  
"I pray for that day when you do enter his gates, Muhammad." He smiled warmly. "But please, I urge you to pick your battles wisely. You mustn't die by the Jews bloody hands--"  
  
"When they're not eating that bloody matzo they eat every spring time." Muhammad laughed, mocking the occupants' gruesome traditions as though they were savages, which, by all means, they practically were. "Come now, Father. It's not like we're facing down the Bloody Reds. Most likely it'll be the Zionist police!"  
  
Ah... the Bloody Reds, what an appropriate name for them, with many a Muslim's blood on them like the color of their insignia openly emblazons. They were even worse than the typical Zionist solider, playing Allah on who should live and who should die just like the third one of the heathens' "Popes" named Innocent. How ironic....  
  
"There isn't time for debate, Father." Muhammad threaded his head and shoulder through the sling, having the Soviet rifle come to rest at his side. "I can hear the Jews approaching! Do you hear?"  
  
The clacking abruptly ceased in his home, just as he put the Jew on his TV on mute. His ears distinctly caught the thrum of the Zionist motorcars in the quiet air of the Palestinian homeland, and they were closing in on the neighborhood from what it sounded like. The others stampeded out of his home while his son stood by his side, like the good boy he was.  
  
"Stay close to me, Muhammad." His voice was a quiet whisper. "I have no bodyguard."  
  
"Allow me then, Father." The boy took a knee by his chair, and he gave the Jew on the television back his voice at the click of a button.  
  
*Allah, may you give us protection, * he closed his eyes in silent prayer, *and help those out there punish the Jews for their treachery! *  
  
***  
  
"TARA!" Yune shouted through the hollow roar of the wind in his face, his hand bucking as he made another web in the pursuers' windshield. "KEEP YOUR HEAD DOWN!"  
  
The blonde laid flat against the springy bench seat, her small body curled into a fetal position with her fingers dug deeply into her hair. Quickly, gladly he thanked the Lord for the sidings of the SUV, how every bullet simply ricocheted off the smooth body at the incidence angle as if it were light. But bitterly, he cursed the loveable Freeman for the frail soft-top, the happy-go-lucky doctor's cloth aesthetic now mere shreds and ribbons as it simply flung off Sadie a couple blocks back.  
  
Yet it did slap against the windshield of their previous tail like a piece of newspaper in the summer wind, causing it to veer and fishtail out of action as their current pursuer took up the chase. He gladly thanked the Lord quietly for it too.  
  
*BLAM! * Another round unleashed at the pursuers--another circle of spider-web cracks radiating from its impact square in the middle. He couldn't keep it up for long. Two of his three magazines were dry; both useless scrap as it fell from the Sadie's body, and creased under the chaser's wheels. Numbers lost all meaning in his mind as he miraculously slapped the last clip in, the slide chambering another 9mm when it was free from its lock.  
  
"Yune!" Kimberly exclaimed; her sunken head between her hunched shoulders never turning away from the wide, dark stripe that was the road. "Don't bother wasting your rounds! They're bullet-resistant!"  
  
He grunted inwardly. "I can see that!" he exclaimed his noting.  
  
"Okay, okay!" Sadie said loudly through the wind. "When the chips are down, Sadie saves the day. Sit back, sweetie, cause Momma's got you covered!"  
  
Though the wind, his ears caught a loud, droning hum from the empty space at the very rear of the vehicle as something silver and shiny began to rise. The crest of gleamed a bright white in his eyes from the midday sun upon its decent. The little white patch that was the sun trailed down its lateral surface, morphing from ovals to circles as it ran over the undulated chrome.  
  
His dry eyes were as wide as they could get while the metallic beast mooned him as it turned its narrow, flat nose toward the tail. He couldn't be sure, but thought he saw the passenger's eyes in the olive Hummer grew as wide as his, if not wider. Regardless, he gladly took his seat properly, the back of his head squarely against the headrest.  
  
The vehicle made a soft chuckle, its digitized voice fluctuating strangely--and his hand capped against his ear while the other pressed against the shoulder. The vehicle let out a piercing, screeching *ZAP* as something pink brightly flashed behind him. Something behind made a rackety clatter, the discord of creasing and crunching of glass and metal a fading decrescendo in the wind.  
  
"Did I tell you or what, Yune?" Sadie said proudly.  
  
His grip eased on the Daewoo gently. "Excuse me," he said dryly, "if I don't find killing a vehicle a monumental achievement."  
  
"Well sorry...!" the vehicle huffed. "At least you can say, 'Thank you, Sadie, for saving my sorry ass'!"  
  
"Yeah," he grunted, "what you just said."  
  
"We're not out of the woods yet, guys!" Kim exclaimed; her deep green iris aimed at the rear-view mirror. "Look!"  
  
***  
  
Matt swerved around the scarred man's swerving, fishtailing car with ease a few blocks back, but that wasn't the least of Ben's problems as the next Hummer ahead rolled at them. The Hummer became a rolling boulder of scrap and useless parts, crinkled and warped, the frame began to curl into itself barely as it leaped over them like a hurdle at its closet hop.  
  
"Shit!" The vehicle exclaimed. Ben's head poked through the cap that his laced fingers made as he unrolled his back into the seat. "Did you hear that!?"  
  
"YOUR LOVER-LUMP CHUCKED A FUCKING CAR AT US!!" Ben clenched his fists tightly around the grips of the console as his arms came down. "HOW AM I NOT SEEING THAT!?"  
  
"Shit, dude!" Matt cringed. "Say it, don't spray it!"  
  
"That turret of hers is going to be a problem!" He noted loudly.  
  
"Destroy it then!" Matt countered. "Don't talk to me like I'm fucking Shia! Just shoot the damn thing already! I'm going to see if I can calm sweetie down a bit."  
  
***  
  
"Oh Sadie!" something called out behind her, loudly and coarsely through the wind, calling for the very vehicle she guided. "It is I, your soul mate!"  
  
"Who the hell...?" the vehicle thought aloud. "Kim, who the hell's back there?"  
  
"Another Hummer with some serious heat on it!" Yune had twisted his trunk around to his door, his head trained on something behind. Quickly her eye stole a glimpse from the side mirror--  
  
--And her foot never felt so heavier as that monster of a piece lifted out of the pursuing vehicle's hardtop, its large, barreled nose trained right on Sadie's lethal tail.  
  
"Can't you go any faster?" Yune called.  
  
"I'm at full throttle already!" Sadie exclaimed. "My stabilizers at the limit, and my valve covers are working overtime! Unless you want to have a face full of asphalt, I can't go any faster!"  
  
"Not quite!" Her left arm locked at the elbow while her right inched for the knobby gearshift.  
  
"Don't even think about the NOS!" Sadie growled loudly--  
  
--But her ears caught a loud and distinguishable *POOMPH* from behind. And the vehicle rocked violently, terribly, tires cried out in piercing screeches as her rump left the seat for only a moment. Something buckled and clattered behind her seat, the metal of Sadie moaning in terrible pain before it was quashed by a terrible head splitting *CRASH*!  
  
"I'm sorry, Honey!" that strange vehicle exclaimed. "But if you didn't put the gun down, some one else had to."  
  
"QUIT CALLING ME HONEY!!" the speakers crackled out in furiously as the program took the wheel. Kim nearly fell out of her seat, out of the vehicle if she hadn't had her seat belt fastened, as Sadie completed a 180- degree turn with programmed ease, at the screech of protest from the very tires she rolled on. "WHO THE HELL ARE YOU!?"  
  
"Don't you recognize me, dearest?" the strange vehicle asked simply. "I guess you could call me your brother, or even your son. But what fun would that be for me?"  
  
The engine revved loudly a few times; Kim could feel the pedal tap against the sole of her boot.  
  
"You're that knockoff I kept hearing about!" the vehicle's flat, Jersey voice growled.  
  
"Oh, that's such a bad way of putting it." The olive Hummer with the monster monkey on its back said. "I'm Matt by the way; the Mobile Automated Turret, but everyone calls me Matthew. Or Matt, a name doesn't mean much to this hunk of burning love and gasoline, as long as it isn't derogatory."  
  
"Kim!" Yune's voice was a harsh whisper as he pulled her away from the face off, all with a little pinch of the skin of her forearm. "What the hell are we going to do? Can't you floor it?"  
  
"Sadie's taken control." She hunched quickly behind the dash, her waist arcing a bit as she leaned over the thick console. "There's nothing I can do! But I have an idea."  
  
"Shoot." Yune was all ears as she lifted her head a little, so that her eyes could safely survey all that was around her. They shifted to the right, to the adjacent street where a tollbooth of some kind flanked the walls of the fence, beyond where the Hebrew ended and where the squiggly, messy lines of Arabic began.  
  
"We bust through the checkpoint." She whispered. "Draw them into a crossfire."  
  
Yune's lips were as thin as they could get, curtsey of the muscles that pressed them together. Out from between the seats, the wavy blonde girl poked her head through the space, her eyes wide and glistening with hysteria.  
  
"You're crazy!" the girl said in silent exclamation, her girly, bubbly voice absent from her words. "You're absolutely crazy!"  
  
"We don't have much choice, T." the Asian shook his head. "And we're not in a position to nitpick, are we? So I say, what have we got to loose."  
  
"Me, you idiot!" Tara furrowed her brow in disgust. "What about me!?"  
  
"Forget the bench seat, T." Yune said quietly. "Your taking cover on the floor. Do *NOT* poke your head up for any reason till I say, got it?"  
  
Tara looked hurt, mildly put-off at best.  
  
"Do you got it, T?" the man pressed in a guttural drone.  
  
"Right." The girl's eyes disappeared behind a their fleshy veils as she nodded sincerely. "But you heard what Ron said about that place! It's a death trap!"  
  
Tara's words were the exclamation mark for everything that Ronald had shared with them up to this very moment. She felt the sweat bead on her furrowed brow, a drop of it trailing down her cheek as her gloves wringed the wheel.  
  
*Then let us hope that Ron's wrong again, Tara... * she thought.  
  
"I hope you were listening, Sadie." She trained her eyes upon the green, fluctuating readout screen. "Because we don't have the time to explain it again."  
  
"Got every word of it, Kim." The vehicle replied. "Nice talking to you, Matthew, but my program's got a strict function against rolling with psychos!"  
  
"Aw, don't be harsh, baby!" the vehicle named Matt replied. "I'm built for you! Come on, can't we talk about this over an oil change or something?"  
  
"Sorry there, *baby*." Sadie replied smugly. "But we've got to jet!"  
  
Kim felt the pedal hit against the firewall, and her foot made sure it stayed snug against the carpet as the SUV took off for the corner. The panel on Yune's side nearly clipped the wall, and there was a small bump as something in the back fell to the floor in a heap.  
  
"Oh--that wasn't smart!" Her ears barely caught Tara's groan as Sadie smashed through the tollbooth's bar as if it were made from simple toothpicks.  
  
"Hang on, kids!" Sadie yelled. 


	17. Chapter 17

17  
  
Tara had never felt this afraid before in her entire life. Even the bizarre incident on the Escutcheon couldn't hold a candle up to the very moment that played out before her very eyes. The whole world outside the doors howled and wailed after them--after her, that pretty blonde girl that everyone mistook was German, for whatever sick reason they held fast. Everyone, that her darting, peeking eyes could catch outside the bumpy ride either tossed stones or blasted rounds that zipped and zinged over her bench seat.  
  
"HOLD ON TIGHT, T!" Yune called to her through the madness just beyond Sadie's doors--and a quelled groan escaped her as she found the top of her body pressed harshly into the back of the front passenger seat. The tires protested too much--she could barely make them out over the *thuds* and the *bangs* the rocks made against the side panels.  
  
*God, please don't let me die! * She whimpered.  
  
***  
  
"Kim!" Kim barely heard that nasal voice. "You'd better find a damn way out of this camp, and fast! I can't keep this up forever!"  
  
"How should've I known I'd run into a refugee camp this fast!?" Kim countered with a yell; her head ducked between her arms as she felt something fleetingly grab at the thick flesh of her ears. She tugged the wheel harshly at the sound of squealing tires, to the right, as the next corner came upon her. "Huh!? TELL ME THAT MUCH, SADIE!"  
  
"We don't have time for this, ladies!" Yune said loudly, yet calmly as though everything was fine outside the SUV. Though he was quick to drop his act in the next sentence, as the volume surged gradually in his voice.  
  
"But our ladies' van's tailing right behind us!"  
  
"How far behind!?" she demanded.  
  
"Oh Sadie...!" that strange vehicle was a sophisticated predator, sleek and flawless. It just had to be! "The garage awaits us!"  
  
"For the last damn time, Matt!" Sadie shouted at the top decibel of her speakers, as loud as the amplifiers could safely intensify the waves. "I SAID NO!!"  
  
"Don't be like that, Honey!" the Hummer named Matt carried on like Sadie had said nothing at all. "I was built for you!"  
  
--She gasped, and her heart stopped for mere seconds as another *POOMPH* blasted into her ears. She saw something from above fall to the dirty ground, something small about the size of a cola can. It touched the road, as gentle as if it had lips to kiss the ground--  
  
--"Oh SHIT!"--  
  
--And the ground leapt up in surprise, a good chunk of it left the earth and leapt in an explosion of fiery orange and angry red, chunks of it slapping and hard granules tapping against the windshield as she drove through the dark brown cloud. The seatbelt around her trunk tightened awkwardly on her chest, some of her air squeezed out her mouth and her hands flapped off the wheel as it turned by itself to the left.  
  
Sadie took control automatically, and she was grateful the AI did when she came face to face with the dirty, hairy visage of some Palestinian plastered on a dirty, pebbled wall a mere foot away. A collar of some militant garb swaddled his neck while a green banner with white, scribbled Arabic was wrapped tightly against his very tanned brow.  
  
"Everyone okay?" Sadie asked earnestly.  
  
"*Ugh...! *" Her tongue slipped through her lips in disgust.  
  
"Kim means we're good!" Yune thankfully took up the conversation. "Come on, let's get moving already!"  
  
She shook the dreadful image out of her mind, and she stole a glance over her shoulder. The engine of the Matt vehicle rumbled lividly through the manic-depressive choir of angry camp folk, screaming and chanting after them. A few clusters of dark, dirty children hurried around the corner she'd turned, in their menacing, flailing hands where stones clenched as fierce as the utter hatred burning in their dark eyes.  
  
It'd be mere moments before those stones became bullets, as more dirty people--older people rounded the same corner. They were closing in quickly.  
  
Both her boots stamped upon the pads of the gas and the brake, and Sadie let out a quick cry of surprise as thin clouds of smoke plumed up from behind the back. She eyed the tachometer warily as the needle began to arc. The stench of burnt rubber swirled gently up her nose, and she exorcized the bitter stink with a harsh snort.  
  
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING, KIM!?" Sadie demanded in a yell. "MY TREADS ARE BALDING AS WE SPEAK!!"  
  
"Yune!" she dismissed the whining vehicle altogether. "Blind that monkey off our backs!"  
  
The Asian gave a quick bob of the head as he spun his body around in the seat cumbersomely. His gun jumped, and his good hand flicked at the wrist and his digits clenched the gun at the back most end of the slide. A quelled grunt came out of him as his fingers wrenched the slide back just a little; the gun hopped once more and he caught it properly.  
  
The needle of the tachometer begged for her attention, tapping swiftly against its stop in the red line, just as did the temperature gauge with the tip of its needle calmly lifting towards that little, white H. Only then did her ears managed to recognize that fluctuation discord that blared out of the speakers.  
  
"GET OFF THE DAMN BRAKE, KIM!!" Sadie's voice was a nasty, terrible shadow of its former sassy self. "YOU'RE GOING TO BLOW US ALL UP!!"  
  
"Just shut up, S!" she growled.  
  
"I CAN'T!" The vehicle screamed back. "I'M IN PAIN!!"  
  
She took a glance at Yune, all his body squatting severely in the seat while the arm tried to steady itself. She could barely catch the Matt's smug... arousal through the engine's terrible scream.  
  
"Lord, I do love a good burnout!" it said haughtily. "Oh--how'd I love to get you in my garage."  
  
That calm needle continued in ascent into the dangerous regions of that little, white H.  
  
"Come on, Yune--"  
  
*BLAM! * The Asian unleashed a 9mm, seemingly at the sound of her words. A yelp of surprise came from the Matt vehicle, powering over the gentle sound of cracking glass. She quickly turned her head over her left shoulder. The mechanical monkey upon Matt's back had an eye punched out, spider-web thin cracks trailed from out the circular blackness that was the center.  
  
The angry crowd was on top of the Matt, about a yard away at most as she saw older people turn the corner, the short barrels and lengthy barrels of pistols and many an AK bobbing for it--  
  
"KIM!!" Sadie yelled.  
  
The tension in her body eased a bit, her muscles unwinding as a confident smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.  
  
"Going!"  
  
The car surged from underneath her body as she retrieved her left boot from the brake, the Matt and the angry mob eating the thick cloud of Sadie's stench. Her back was flush against the seat, and she peeked out of the corner of her eyes to her Asian passenger who had the dash in a strong death grip.  
  
"You okay, Yune?" she said.  
  
"Oh sure!" he blinked, and the tension eased in his hand a little. "I nearly got stoned, blown up, and almost fell out of the car to boot, but otherwise I'm the king of the world! And you?"  
  
"Don't you--EVER--do that to me again!" Sadie's shriek put her mother's own scowls to shame, scowls that even her puppy-dog pouting couldn't wane. "You hear that, Kimmie!? I swear by my ejection seats that you'll French the sky if you *ever* power-jack me like that again!"  
  
"Sorry, Sadie..." the roots did nothing to mane, whipping violently in the wind as she shook her head.  
  
"Just..." the AI was at a surprising loss for words, "--forget it!"  
  
"Maybe you should just drive, Kim." Yune said.  
  
"CAREFULLY!" Sadie interjected loudly.  
  
***  
  
Uzi's eyes took a lap around his sockets, and he let out a disgusted, incensed sigh.  
  
Once again, things took a sad turn for the worse for his men below. An angry crowd of degenerates had overpowered the MAT; victory over that troublesome Korean slipped through his fingers once more, as he tore out of the alleyway in a smoking fanfare.  
  
Just as the passenger in the red-and-yellow devil blew out something on the SWARM, the rear left corner of the Hummer dropped dramatically with a small wisp of whatnot rising from the tire, quickly dissipating into the heated atmosphere. Matt attempted to roll away hobbled, but the crowds quickly overwhelmed it. They crawled atop the doomed vehicle like the ants they were, bouncing on it triumphantly like as though it were a trampoline for mere entertainment.  
  
Soldier ants filed in quickly, armed with bats, pipes, guns, and whatever their greedy little hands could snatch. One larger ant smashed in the passenger window, bits and pieces of it twinkling in the light as they broke on the dirty ground. Arms from all classes dove into the window--  
  
--"*Shtup... *" he growled. --  
  
--And dragged their lunch out of Matt like a sardine in a can. His small, olive body filtered down through the mass of wretched faces, circling away from him like vultures to a fresh kill. The olive ant had no gun; he saw one of the punks cart the UZI away proudly like a trophy. The soldier ants filtered in through the mob, armed with tools of their guerrilla trade. The tips, the very apexes of their bats and pipes arced in, then up and away in perfect sync. Then they all--  
  
--*That's an investment I'll never get back; owed me a damn shekel! Jerk! *--  
  
--Crashed down together.  
  
"Shia," his fingers rubbed at the closest temple, massaging it almost, "care to explain why Ben didn't put my SWARM to good use?"  
  
"We got a radio signal from Delta before... well--this, anyway." The curly top pilot tried to put a better face on things. "Ben said that the MK19 had malfunctioned, just as its lens was shot to pieces. Maybe the force from the bullet giggled the gun too much or something."  
  
"The damn yellow devil's gun's a 9mm!" he said loudly. "Doesn't matter now if Ben's alive or dead! We need to get that fucker now! But first, we've got some cleaning up to do. Shia, take out the Mobile Automated Turret post haste! Leave nothing for the enemy, got it?"  
  
"Rodger!" the pilot replied.  
  
"After confirmation," he continued, "engage the target vehicle. Eliminate it through any means necessary, and I *do* mean by any means!"  
  
"Collateral damage, sir?"  
  
"Don't be scrupulous, Shia!" he smirked. "Don't even think of these mongrels as human. All personnel are considered hostile, and watch out for any Rocket Propelled Grenades. And while you're at it, get Avi on the horn. I want him back in pursuit!"  
  
"Sir!"  
  
*Run, Bin-Mok! Run like the little faggot you are! Is it mere coincidence that your skin's as yellow as your streak? I think not! *  
  
"Muslims and mongrels got a yellow streak in them a mile wide!" he chuckled softly. "Isn't that right, Bonnet?"  
  
"Uh..." the curly top seemed to be taken aback, "right--sir!"  
  
"Good answer," he affirmed it to himself, "now let's get on with it!"  
  
"Sir!"  
  
***  
  
Everything was quiet around her, nothing rogue imposing itself upon the steady thrum of the engine or the gentle vibration in her body.  
  
Tara's hands slid off the back of her head, her weak fingers combing through the thick of her wavy hair as her pinkies came into contact with the matted carpet. Her palms sank barely into the floor as she lifted her chest up a tic; enough to where she felt the crooks of her arms lock and twist in a little. Her neck let out a crack as she shook her head around.  
  
"*Oh... *" She placed the heel of one of her palms against the flesh of her ears, rubbing at it. "We all should be deaf now."  
  
"I see you're still alive." She frowned at Kim's drone, as though the nightmare they had just awakened from was nothing more than an ill joke.  
  
"Is that a bad thing...?" she growled irritably while she turned her back to the floor, shuffling herself back against the door. She could just catch the crest of her dark, auburn mane over the tip of the driver's headrest.  
  
"Can you see *now* why I wanted you back home, Tara?" Kimberly paid her no more attention than by a shift of her hair, nothing more than a little twist of it towards her. "You could have died!"  
  
"I could have died...?" she pursed her lips tetchily with a furrow of her brow, and the tense ambiance outside felt nothing more than a breeze as she shot straight up from the floor defiantly. Her hands clenched tightly around the nearest bar of the vehicle's shiny roll cage... thing. "*I* could have died!? Newsflash, Kim—WE *ALL* COULD HAVE DIED BACK THERE!! DO YOU SEE!? DO YOU GET THAT, KIMMIE!?"  
  
The dusted road ahead may have had some curves, but that didn't skip her heart as much as the driver, who shot her a dirty look. Yet she had the courage--the guts to press on.  
  
"QUIT PRETENDING THAT I'M JUST DEAD WEIGHT, KIM!" She yelled. "I AT LEAST DESERVE THAT MUCH!"  
  
Kim simply returned her head back--and she barely saw the auburn stamp on the brake as she tumbled off her feet, almost into the front seats if she didn't have her hands clenched on the roll cage bar.  
  
"Will you QUIT--DOING--THAT!?" Sadie let out a yell of protest.  
  
"TARA!" She had never witnessed this ferocity in Kimberly for as long as she known her. "THIS IS NOT YOUR CALL TO MAKE! DO YOU GET ME!?"  
  
"I DON'T REALLY CARE NOW," her body trembled furiously, her hands around the bar quivering in unbridled rage, "DO I KIM!?"  
  
Out of the corner of her dry eyes, her black-capped man had his body twisted at his door, his head squarely trained at her, angled back while his eyes gazed past.  
  
"Uh--ladies?" her ears could barely catch him through the yelling.  
  
"I'M THE ONLY THING STANDING BETWEEN YOU AND BULLET, T!" Kim carried on unhindered, and she shall not disappoint.  
  
"I--I--I--I--I!" She one-upped that firebrand in volume. "THAT'S ALL I EVER HEAR FROM YOU!"  
  
"Ladies...?" Yune trailed off, his dark eyes dead center in his tan head.  
  
"THIS 'I' KNOWS A HELL OF A LOT MORE THAN YOU, GERMAN!"  
  
Tara blinked, just before a severe tick caused the flesh below her one of her eyes to spasm in a swift, infuriated pattern.  
  
*Oh--NO YOU DIDN'T! *  
  
"I'M NOT GERMAN, YOU FUCKING MICK!!" she screamed, and the vehicle rocked from the back to the front in a heavy wave in the midst of her stomp.  
  
"CUT IT OUT, YOU TWO!" The vehicle yelled to the top of her speakers. Kim carried on zealously--way *too* zealously.  
  
"I'M NOT A MICK!" the auburn drove an ax-handle strike straight into the steering wheel. The entire body of the car trembled throughout its entirety. "I'M NOT EVEN IRISH!!"  
  
"NOW YOU KNOW HOW I FEEL, BITCH!"  
  
"I'M NOT THE BITCH, BITCH!"  
  
"LADIES!!" Yune joined in, his gun making a loud, exclamation high into the air, as up as far as his arm could reach with a ribbon of thin smoke fleeting higher.  
  
"WHAT!?" She and the Mick poured their entire wrath into a single shout, all forced upon the poor passenger along for the ride. The Asian showed them no signs of hurt--not even a hint of pain as trained the muzzle of his gun behind him, the barrel staring coldly past her--  
  
--*KAA--BLAM!! *  
  
Something behind flashed brilliantly, and the vehicle shuddered in the wake of a huge blast, nearly sending her out of the cabin altogether if it weren't for the roll cage bars. Her feet strained, barely able to keep her body upright as she gathered her bearings. From the deafness in her head came out a quick, and irregular beating, as if someone drummed their middle and index fingers right next to her ears. Slowly, she twisted her body around.  
  
"OH SHIT!" The grudge between them dropped on a dime, all on Kimberly's broken gaze.  
  
Behind them, in the air indifferently hovered a mechanical dragon, seemingly of American origin. Its fleeting breath of radiant yellow engulfed the air just blow the nose, but it was a mere candle wick aflame compared to that angry, bellowing cloud, filled to the brim with malice just as the beast responsible. A trail of dark and golden colors streamed from below the craft to the ground like urine.  
  
"Just that thing in Prague all over again..." she could only catch a piece of her voice, as she helplessly witnessed the sheer destruction unfolding before her, like that other interloping 'copter flying close beside the beast like an annoying fly.  
  
"Not this time!" Kimberly exclaimed, as she twisted back her body against her seat. "We'll talk about this shit later, Tara! We've got people to save!"  
  
"Right!" she gladly took her seat, as the Mick made Freeman's poor vehicle tear ass back down the street, in the reverse gear, of all options.  
  
"REMIND ME TO HAVE YOUR LICENSE REVOKED!" Sadie yelled angrily.  
  
"Shut it!"  
  
***  
  
Riot teams, non-lethal weapons, tear gas; everything of that sort was so overrated nowadays, when people would rather risk life, limb, and arrest, utterly refusing to simply submit to the superior authority. The mongrels below put up a good show for him, training their illegal weapons upon him with the fleeting possibility burning in their hardened skulls that just one of those many rounds--just one magic, silver bullet--could magically puncture through what little remained of his face, let alone his impenetrable perch.  
  
Uzi's entertainment was quickly coming to a close, to abrupt for his savoring tastes. Most of the mongrels had scattered when push came to shove after Matthew and Benjamin became a smoking, blackened crater in the middle of the road, whimpering and crying back to their dens with their tailbones between their legs, mooning him their true yellow colors. The rabid zealots of the bunch littered the streets in a dirty, crimson smear, pooling even wider as Shia continued to hammer out the rounds, and that interloping 'copter nearby was there to catch it all.  
  
*Send my people a message, Channel 2. * He smirked.  
  
But even as the hot brass and disintegrating chain continued its shower on the reddened road, pockets of resistance let out little blasts of smoke at him from behind the corners down the road, beyond the turret's reach.  
  
"Finish them off!" he barked. "We're reengaging the target vehicle ASAP!"  
  
"I don't think we'll have to wait long, Mr. U." Shia said almost comically.  
  
"What do you mean?" his brow kinked.  
  
"Three o'clock, Sir!" the pilot exclaimed. "The target's coming right for us!"  
  
He pressed his hand against his eyes, drawing it across his face as he touched the flank of his chin to his right shoulder. Low and behold, the red-and-yellow devil tore up a small cloud of tan dust as it barreled closer, ass first.  
  
"Hot damn." He grinned softly. "Well isn't this a hell of a note! Redirect your fire, Shia! We're not loosing them!"  
  
"Yes sir, Mr. U!" the pilot replied, and his breath seemed to feel a little tighter while the bloody street pulled up and away from him. The survivors of the *real* massacre were pandering for some more sand for their hourglasses; too bad he actually had some to give this time around.  
  
"Time's up for you, Yellow Devil!" he clenched his fist, tight fingers trembling with anticipation.  
  
"Amen to that, Sir!" the pilot behind let out a growl of raw jubilation.  
  
"Fire at will, Shia!" he laid his back against his seat with ease. "I'll let you do the honors. He put the slug in your gut, after all."  
  
"Sir!"  
  
***  
  
"Sadie!" Kimberly said loudly, wringing the wheel, as that terrible worm, wrapped tightly in its mechanical pupa above, became her focus in the rear view mirror, through the narrowed eyes of her furrowed brow. "I want your missile battery armed and ready ASAP!"  
  
Drazen; the sheer thought of him--of *it*--disgusted her, his disgusting visage singeing a burning, red crack straight into her brain. The soulless monster wasn't going to get away this time, not from her! He was going to atone for everyone he had touched--humanity itself for his unspeakable crimes, here and now, and nothing was going to keep him from it.  
  
"I can't!" The vehicle yelled. "My weapons' systems are fried!"  
  
She blinked--and she turned to the fluctuating readout of forest green, eyes wide with a dreaded disbelief. A pit merged out of nowhere in her stomach, and quickly did the deep, sinking feeling persuade her to ease off the gas.  
  
"What'd you mean they're fried!?" She demanded.  
  
"Like Kentucky Fried Chicken, Kim!" The bars upon the readout reached their highest peaks, a little dash of agitated sass encoded deeply into the voice. "Stick a fork in them, they're done--*well done*! Some of my guidance systems are gone too, so don't expect me to fully compensate any time soon!"  
  
"You'd better not be fucking with me--!"  
  
"Cross my carburetor and hope to stall, Kimmie!" the vehicle snapped back. "I'm not! Something got scrambled or singed when my blaster came down like a damn anvil!"  
  
"SO WE'RE DEFENSELESS!?" Tara inadvertently clamped a piece of her hair, using both her hands to push her trunk forward, in between the front seats.  
  
"I'm sorry, you guys..." Sadie sighed--and she slammed both her feet down on the brake through a loud, throaty yell of abhorrence, one of her roughest ever to pass through her lips. She gave the wheel a heavy pound with her fist, the plastic quivering at her angry touch.  
  
"IT'S NOT OVER YET!" Her voice sounded nothing of it, not even a hint in her terrible bark, and her eyes clamped shut in agitation. "YOU HEAR ME, SAD!? IT'S NOT TILL I SAY IT IS, GOT IT!?"  
  
"Well what the hell do you expect us to do, Kim?" Yune said calmly. "We're out gunned! We've only got the rifle and our pistols, and I'm running low on rounds!"  
  
"Will you shut up, Yune!" she yelled. "I'm trying to think!"  
  
Think? Ha--that's a laugh in itself, if she were back home, watching this whole nightmare on tape. She opened her eyes, the slick water on them glistening in the sun, and her gloves strangled the firm grooves of the wheel. What was there to think about? Uzi mercilessly opened Hell's gate for those poor, defenseless people, and he continued to hammer out the judgment as though God himself had ordained him to. That TV 'copter nearby caught it all, hovering distantly on the repulsive action like a shy cameraman in a snuff film.  
  
*TV chopper... * her mind whispered quietly, brow kinking as the thought passed through. She lifted her butt a little, trying to capture the reflected light of the bench seat behind her in the rear view mirror. Tara sat slouched right in the middle of the seat, head safely below the tip of the back of the seat, leaning gently against the small pile of duffle bags to the blonde's left.  
  
"Yune," she looked at him, "how high do you think that news copter is?"  
  
"I'd say higher than Drazen!" The Asian didn't bother to look back, and she could see his dark eyes in the mirror outside his door. "And he's training right for us!"  
  
"Tara!" The girl in the long, narrow mirror darted her gaze right at her, eyes big and quivering with apprehension.  
  
"Yes?" the blonde replied anxiously.  
  
"You're driving!" she called. She didn't think Tara's eyes could have gotten any wider, but the blonde proved her wrong. She turned to the Asian beside. "Yune, you're in the back seat!"  
  
"WHAT!?" Both exclaimed, awestruck.  
  
"Don't look at me like I'm frigging Frankenstein!" the buckle at her hip clicked, and the thick seatbelt drew roughly across her chest as the thin slit in the seat slurped it up like a fettuccini noodle. She frowned at the Asian's skeptical gaze, but he dropped it quickly as his restraint slapped him upside his face. "Just do it!"  
  
Yune sighed as he tumbled over the thick, center console, through the space between the front seats with his face planted nicely into the back of the bench. Tara placed her hands atop the backs of the front seats, in between the headrests as she limbered over the console. The car bounced as she took to her new seat.  
  
"Everything's rocking and my tires aren't rolling!" Sadie exclaimed. "What the hell's going on up there?"  
  
She looked at Tara with an impatient gaze. The blonde was halfway, one foot on the seat while the other dangled in the back as she grabbed at the wheel for some balance.  
  
"How high can these ejection seats of yours get, Sadie?" Her fingers of her right worked the flap of her monster pocket open, feeling it pop through the thick cloth of her glove, while the others latched onto the blonde's closest wrist.  
  
"Easy down, Tara...." Yune said softly.  
  
Tara said nothing, and the car rocked gently as the girl hopped down into the seat, as soon as her feet were clear of the steering column. She let the blonde relinquish her wrist from her grasp, and she took her left hand and placed it on the buckle of her utility belt while her right withdrew her hairdryer.  
  
"Don't know." Sadie replied. "The Doc never tested them, even after he had them installed. But the NOS with the rocket boosters should pack a punch... in theory anyway."  
  
"Great...!" she let her eyes take a lap around their sockets.  
  
***  
  
Uzi let out a deliberate, droning hum, thick with contemplation as he gazed at his motionless target, a sitting duck in the dirty water. It sat there, with these two little dots, one black while the other pasty played an impromptu game of musical chairs in the open cabin.  
  
"What do you think they're doing?" his pilot asked.  
  
"Who knows; who cares?" He shrugged. "It's working on my nerves-- that much I can tell you! I want a show, damn it!"  
  
"You still have nerves, sir?" Shia chuckled.  
  
His brow furrowed and spasms in his neck made his head jerk quickly. Apparently the shiner on his boyish face didn't make his balls shrink as hurriedly as he had wanted.  
  
"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that, Shia." He grunted.  
  
"Should I just end it here, Sir?" Shia carried on naturally.  
  
The tonnage of his reply followed suit. The pilot would get it soon enough, but now was not the time for such a trivial pursuit. He had that little yellow devil pinched in his inescapable sight.  
  
"Hold your fire, Bonnet." He wrapped his good arm around his combat load, a slight shiver running through his chest as he tucked the hand into the slippery, greasy crook. "Let's play it out a little longer."  
  
***  
  
Tara was scared.  
  
Her body sank gently into the warmed, leather seat, wanting to sink deeper into it till the hide enveloped her completely. Simple the premise was or not, what Kimberly had asked in the frighteningly stressed circumstance around her was beyond crazy—stupefying practically.  
  
The hard wheel in her grasp was moist and slick in her clammy hands, feet numb as she shuffled them to and fro on the carpet, her breathing shallow and labored unlike her passengers. Kimberly spoke with loud, utmost confidence while her man acted as cool as an ice cube in the fridge.  
  
"What exactly are you thinking, Kimmie?" Sadie asked honestly. "Waltz over to that beast machine, and ask for a fair fight?"  
  
"I'm taking your advice, Sadie." Kimberly said sternly, while she fumbled with an orange hairdryer in her hands. "I'm about to 'French the sky'. Yune, hand me that rifle."  
  
Kimberly fastened her seatbelt, and then did she realize how too comfortable her own chest felt. The back of the chair to her left let out a whir as she drew the thick restraint across her body, latching smoothly into the buckle with a deep click. She took the liberty to adjust her mirrors accordingly, just to be safe.  
  
"Tara--!"  
  
"What!?" she snapped.  
  
"Calm down, Tara." Kimberly said coolly, collectedly.  
  
"I'm calm!" she replied swiftly, quickly, concisely. "I'm perfectly calm! Cool as a cucumber, that's me! Who's freaking out! I'M SURE NOT FREAKING OUT!! No sir!"  
  
"This isn't hard, T." Kim said. "But it's not going to be a cakewalk."  
  
Her fingers strangled the wheel, wringing it as she pushed a wad back down her throat.  
  
"Just tell me what to do...!" she said softly.  
  
"Okay," she began, "you're going to hang a U-turn, and you're going to punch it as soon as you're straight. Drive as straight as you can, and don't slow for anything! Got it?"  
  
Somehow the wad worked its way back up her neck, but a quick swallow held it back from reaching any higher.  
  
"Right...!" she nodded.  
  
"Behind us, there's a news copter near the Apache." Kim continued. "On this road, get as close and as carefully as you can to it. Okay?"  
  
"Yes...!" she nodded again.  
  
"Good." Kim nodded. "Let's go."  
  
She removed her hand from the slick wheel, slowly shifting it toward the little round ball atop the shiny steel stick, as though to draw out the inaction for as long as possible. Her feet moved into the accurate position, the sole of her left scraping the carpet to its rest while her right moved onto the brake. She nudged the wheel right, and she moved the shifter down the straight line, feeling the bumps through the smooth, bulbous grip till the rod sat squarely next to the "D". Her heart quickened its hammering, the car crawling the second she eased off the pedal.  
  
"Trying something are we?" the beast assaulted her ears in a crackling, mocking cackle, thick with that discernible accent. "Ah... Bin-Mok: North Korean, scum of the earth, fights till the bitter, bloody end. I'd pity you... if I felt such things anymore."  
  
Sadie moved to the right, and she let the vehicle roll all the way till the point where she could see the difference between the grime and the natural color of the cement walls. Carefully, she turned the wheel back to the left and the dirt crunched around her as the tires shifted. She clenched the wheel tightly, her eyes penetrating the skin of the beast as Sadie rolled perpendicular to it, straight into those of that freak-show, sitting haughtily, behind all that armor.  
  
"Oh, I see now." The beast said superciliously. "Letting your little drop- dead, Nazi, German beauty queen take point for you. How typical of your yellow-bellied race, you little mongrel! Why Yahweh doesn't smite you all down, I'll never know!"  
  
Never had she felt so scared before in her life, and yet had never felt this brave. Bravado of ten men, it felt had surged through her body in its entirety, from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. She clenched her teeth, so tightly that the rows grinded against each other. Her fingers drummed the wheel, from pinky to pinky, left to right before they wrapped around the molded groves firmly.  
  
*I'm... not... German!! *  
  
She took a hint from the Mick next to her. As soon as Sadie was straight, headlights staring down the bright sheen of her rival's canopy, she took her left foot from its rest, placing the ball directly against the brake.  
  
"What are you doing, Tara!?" The Mick demanded.  
  
Playing just like the auburn, she shot the girl a smirk, beaming the very confidence she felt deep inside.  
  
"Taking a play right from your playbook, Kim." She said and she moved her right foot accordingly, regardless of the two measly cents the AI threw out.  
  
"Oh--NO YOU'RE NOT!" the bars on the readout touched their peaks.  
  
The vehicle ached to surge forward, the large engine roared in angry protest, but her left prevented such action while her right opened the throttle generously.  
  
"Yes I am!" she exclaimed, her narrowed eyes watching, waiting intolerantly for the tip of the orange needle to hit its stop in the red. Her wait had come to an abrupt close in a mere second.  
  
She lifted her left--and there was no time, not even a lag to set it back upon its rest as Sadie shot off like a rocket, body flopping like a doll against the squishy seat.  
  
"Holy... COW!!" her ears could barely catch her own voice. 


	18. Chapter 18

18  
  
"Hello?" Hershel called through the thick door, slipping the room key card she kept for herself smoothly into the reader.  
  
The inner workings clattered against each other sharply as she turned the handle, pushing the thick door ajar the second the little light above the slot shinned its jade blessing. The handle returned to its default with a snap.  
  
"It's Hershel." She said through that small crack between the door and the frame. "Don't shoot. I'm here to take Ms. Stark to the airport, like we arranged."  
  
Nothing but the still, quiet air replied through the crack, just like with the lovebirds' room next door. Routinely, her hand slipped behind the flap of her jacket, fingers questing for the grip of her pistol. The tips felt the button pop abruptly, the pieces of the bottle-cap strap parting for her fingers as they wrapped around the steel grip. She barely had it out of its leather pocket, the muzzle arcing for the ground while her shoulder shoved the heavy plank open.  
  
Possible's room was empty, clean and orderly as though the redhead had never used it. The bed was made; its bedspread smoothed out over the mattress with a small little depression at the foot. The laptop's black screen glared at her, the light barely reflecting back her image. Two wrinkled duffel bags shared a small cot nearby.  
  
Professionally, she kept her gun on point as she eased her body further into the room, whipping it around the corner first while her body followed second. The closet doors were wide open, and the natural light spilling inside drove out all possibility of someone inside like the very shadows that once dwelled.  
  
Perfectly, her eyes ran over every inch of the undulated surface of the angled, egg carton foam. The .50-caliber rifle was missing, and so was the box of .357 rounds, as though she left in a hurry.  
  
"Where'd you go, guys?" she said quietly as she holstered her gun.  
  
--Something beeped nearby, and her hand returned to the gun instinctively but she was certain it was nothing. Though her heart did hop in her chest, she was sure it wasn't an incendiary device, not by that strange jingle. It was four notes, the third interjecting itself upon the second just at it ended, a note above the other three.  
  
It came from one of the duffels on the cot.  
  
She walked toward it indifferently, and her hand took the lead as it plunged into the bag, through the hole where it was unzipped. The tips of her fingers tapped against plastic, buried through several articles of clothes of varying textures. She yanked it out of the bag harshly, as if it were stuck.  
  
In her hands, Possible's PDA beeped at her again. Something told her to thumb at the red button, between the four white ones, like she had seen her contracted functionary do. The dark screen was engulfed in a snowstorm of static when her thumb gave the button a nudge, but through the whiteout, an image filtered in, fighting back the storm. The static quickly dissipated as more of the image sifted into place. From out the speakers, her ears distinctly caught the sound of a keyboard, fingers tap dancing on it.  
  
"Almost got it...!" a child's voice said in a loud crescendo, the last words and intensifying drawl. The screen became crystal clear with a flicker, with not a hint of static or interference, yet that has to been seen. "There!"  
  
"Uh... who are you?" she asked.  
  
"I'm Wade." The dark, portly child frowned. "And you must be that Hershel I keep hearing about."  
  
"The one and only." She smirked. "But your Satellite's down for the count, last I checked. How'd you get your system back on line, and so quickly?"  
  
"All in the card, Ms. Hershel." The boy smiled proudly. "Amazing how I didn't see it in the first place, and I'm supposed to be the genius of this outfit."  
  
Her brow kinked, yet her eyes narrowed skeptically.  
  
"What'd you do...?" she groaned.  
  
"My direct line with Kim's been shot down over Jerusalem not too long ago." He said. "And after pondering this conundrum for about a half hour now, I remembered about your little mod to Kim's memory card. Since we're on the same team, I just figured I'd invite myself over to your network and servers."  
  
"Shit!" she cursed. "If your government didn't have enough problems with us already...! Does your Department of State know about this?"  
  
"No ma'am." He shook his head. "And after watching the news networks for the past half hour, I could really give a damn."  
  
"Not exactly language becoming of a boy like you, Wade." She sighed. "What *exactly* has been going on?"  
  
The boy blinked his dark eyes. "You mean you don't know?"  
  
"No!" she moaned. "I've been getting an earful from the US Ambassador for the past half hour! I couldn't get out of it."  
  
"Turn on the TV if one's close by." Said the boy. "After that, I'm sure that I don't need to explain what's going on."  
  
"All right." She nodded. "Anything else?"  
  
"The government's on to me, if they're not already. This quite possibly is the last transmission you'll ever hear from me. All I want is that Kim, Ron, and everyone else gets back safe and sound, you hear?"  
  
"I hear you."  
  
"Then maybe I can sleep a little easier in my cell." He shook his head. "I don't know."  
  
"Don't worry about it." She said reassuringly. "After all's said and done, I'm sure Israel can work something out."  
  
"I'll believe it when I see it." He sighed. "Till then, put in a good word with the big man upstairs."  
  
"Will do."  
  
Snow swallowed up the boy and his room in a flurry of static, mere milliseconds before Possible's trademark monogram flickered on the tiny LCD. It flickered out like a light as her thumb gave the little, red button a nudge, the rest of her fingers pocketing the PDA smoothly in the jacket pocket beside her holster.  
  
"Might need this a little later on." She noted aloud as she strolled for the TV.  
  
As her index traveled for the power button, sudden apprehension crept into her mind, as though something terrible waited to explode at her in a shower of dark fragments. But she shoved it off with a simple shrug of the shoulders, a blink of the eyes before she gave the tiny button a rub of her digit. The device let out a tone, high in pitch with thick, Hebrew voices taking the lead from out the speakers while the picture took its sweet time filtering in.  
  
"This is the scene just thirty minutes ago," the faceless anchorman said--  
  
--And a horrific curse escaped through her loose lips, knees waning in their firm lock, as a large mass of still flesh--messy, red flesh--faded in through the dark screen. Men, women, even some children littered the nameless street, their bodies still, faces frozen and twisted in that single moment of terror which took their lives so cruelly, gruesomely.  
  
"Oh... my...!"  
  
***  
  
"JESUS!!" The driver beside her screamed horrifically, as though the fickle deity could actually catch her voice on His distant cloud, through all the madness surrounding. Though the girl's faith was admirable somewhat, her mysterious divinity of chosen dogma wasn't going to get them out of this mess. "HELP!!"  
  
Kim didn't have the time, or the guts to fume her frustration. She kept her eyes on the news 'copter, hovering indifferently above her, and she kept the huge rifle clutched to her chest with both hands.  
  
"DON'T GIVE UP, T!" Yune called through the many terrible, frightening sounds that Drazen unleashed at them from his beast. "KEEP GOING!"  
  
"I DON'T KNOW IF I CAN!!" The blonde rejoined. "I JUST DON'T--!"  
  
"T!!" Her lover yelled. "THIS IS NOT A CONVERSATION!! I HAVE FAITH IN YOU!! NOW DO IT!!"  
  
She stole a blurry glance at the girl, before she retrained her head on that growing piece of benign machinery in the sky. Tara's eyes couldn't have grown any wider, her lids were cramped to the extreme while her teeth bared brightly through her lips. She wasn't sure how much more pressure the girl could take, and if there really was a god out there, she hoped deeply that he, or it wouldn't let the girl crack.  
  
"You can run, Bin-Mok!" The beast said wryly. "But you cannot hide! I'll find you, and make you squeal like a stuck pig! You and that little German wench too!"  
  
"I'M NOT GERMAN!!" Tara screamed back through the wind futilely.  
  
"Sadie!" She exclaimed. "Get ready!"  
  
"Ejection system's ready to go, Kim!" the AI replied loudly. "Just say the word!"  
  
"Find the target's approximate position and altitude!" she barked. "Crunch the numbers, and launch me at just the right time! I'll take it from there! In the meantime, do whatever you can for Yune, and especially Tara!"  
  
"Got it, Kim!" the bars of the equalizers on the green readout were at their maximum peaks. "Running probability scenarios now."  
  
"Good!" her clench upon her grapple gun strangled the buoyancy out of the grip. "Tara, the target's coming up on us! Keep it straight--!"  
  
Another fountain of dirt kicked up from the dirt with a mighty *PACK*, in front of them as Sadie barreled straight through indifferently. Granules tapped off the surface of the windshield while wet globs of earth splattered squarely on, its shape changing as it smeared near the closest edge.  
  
"YOU WANT TO DRIVE, KIMMIE!?" Tara screamed blindly at her while she kept her eyes fixed on the road. "BE MY GUEST!!"  
  
"WE CAN'T AFFORD YOU PISSED OFF, TARA!" She screamed back. "NOW DO IT!"  
  
More of the news copter's dark underbelly became all the more clear the closer she got. Large embers of bright, yellow light soared through her view like meteors; crests of the many muddy fountains of earth kicked up like Old Faithful, yet she kept her eyes on the target, on the shiny, chrome skis that ran underneath it. Promptly, she draped the thick, rifle's sling over her hair, all ten fingers clenching the grapple gun strongly.  
  
"Get ready for lift off, Kim!" Sadie called.  
  
"Ready!" Her lungs took in a deep breath of air, her eyes closed while every single muscle ached with a tense strain. It was her only shot-- *their* only shot for survival, and unlike Ronald's video games, there were no unlimited restarts.  
  
"Prepare for launch!" Sadie continued on attentively. Her guts felt as if they were fighting amongst themselves; a tight, gnawing feeling that made her want to lose her brunch.  
  
Quickly, she removed a hand from her grapple, tearing open the flap of her cargos as the fingers dived straight in. She didn't know why, yet she felt this strange feeling, one that made her twisting guts shiver, as though she somehow knew that she wasn't returning anytime soon. And the lovebirds needed all the help and the breaks they could get.  
  
"Lift off in three... two... one..."  
  
Her last, conscious act had passed; the farewell gift laid flat inside the glove box as she moved its lid closed. Her fingers retook the grapple swiftly. All the madness, the lunacy outside the SUV seemed to fade away immediately, as all her energy, her mental processes reduced to a simple task of number association.  
  
"LAUNCH...!"  
  
Sadie's yell quickly fell into an abrupt silence--a hollow, gushing roar assaulted her weary ears, and her entire body felt 100 pounds heavier. Her head whipped back harshly by the sheer momentum. Her eyes opened swiftly, drying out the second they touched the brisk air that rushed up the length of her body. Yet that 'copter became so clear, as did the shiny, plated skis fastened to the underbelly.  
  
The sun shinned brilliantly at her, its gentle warmth caressing her with its grand inattention as time simply eased to a slight crawl. Never had the blazing ball in the grand canvas of baby blue looked so beautiful.  
  
The restraint drew awkwardly across her body as she brazenly unleashed it from its buckle. Sheer weight eased from the length of her back, especially the small of it as the chair fell away, back down to the war below, slipping her arm free from the retracting cord at the last possible moment.  
  
Both hands retook the grapple as she gave the skis a final look, bringing up the grapple as swiftly as the air around seemingly reversed its flow on her flesh. She didn't pay her aim even a look as both indexes took up the entire length of the trigger, the hairdryer bucking gently in her hands.  
  
Her hands barely felt the vibrations through her gloves as the cord continued its unreeling. It was her last hope. If her stainless steel savior didn't come through, she'd take a nice, clean bite of the dust that swept over the streets below.  
  
She closed her eyes.  
  
"Come on... --*OH!! *"  
  
***  
  
Uzi was getting bored.  
  
For the past half hour, that little mudskipper slipped out of his grasp time and time again like the very, dirty fish that bared the name. The turret was scraping at the bottom of the ammunition box for rounds, though the 'copter packed many a missile a plenty. Even if the Apache was as armed as it was a half hour ago, the weapons and his patience could punish only so many.  
  
It was time to end this bloody game of cat-and-mouse. When there was fun to be had in the last 30-plus minutes, it all was circling the drain, the sheer amusement seeping and leaking drop by drop into that endless void. Yune Bin-Mok that dirty yellow devil was going to die just like his blonde trophy in a plume of dark, smoldering fire, all at the last drop's plummet.  
  
"Mr. U." Shia said loudly, his train derailing as he plummeted back down into dismal, dull reality. "I think someone's jumped the ship!"  
  
"And what makes you think that, Shia?" He simple batted it right back as he took in a big yawn. "See someone roll out the target, did you?"  
  
"No sir." The pilot replied. "But I thought I saw a chair--a damn chair--fall to the street right in front of me! You think that that Korean's trying something?"  
  
"At this point, Bonnet," he sighed, "I don't know what to think, or what to care about. This mongrel is boring me. It's time to put a stop to this foolishness. Arm the missiles. Commence firing when the target's locked."  
  
"What about that nosy 'copter nearby?" the pilot asked.  
  
"*Ah*..." he yawned. "What about it?"  
  
"As you wish, sir."  
  
"You damn right it's my wish!" he nodded. "Let them do their job."  
  
"Sir!"  
  
***  
  
All the muddy, thick fountains were all behind her and the vehicle as the very streaks of bright light pounded into the earth no more. But even with the road ahead, littered with its simple clutters, the tension had yet to lift from her body. The awesome shadow of their flawless stalker loomed over them, as light pulsated its way through the dark shade like a strobe light.  
  
Her man quickly took up the generous amount of space that Kim's sudden departure had left, standing cautiously below the top of the door beside in a crouch. The thought of Kim egged her to whip her head back, for just a mere second, as it passed through her mind. The road ahead was perfectly straight, the nearest junction ahead encroaching slowly upon her. Boldly, she lifted her eyes away from the road.  
  
"Yune!" She smiled weakly as she glanced at the news chopper's new passenger, scaling the dark thread cord as though it were a rope that the redhead conquered many times before in gym. "Kim made it--!"  
  
"T, WATCH IT!!"  
  
She felt the Asian's good hand atop her skull, shoving her eyes back down onto the road--  
  
--And Sadie's wheels let out a whining screech, swerving the whole body of the SUV clear of the hapless girl that carelessly threw stones her way, as she stood defiantly in the middle of the road. Dust enveloped the child in a thick trail as Tara gladly left it behind.  
  
"*Whew*..." she breathed. "That was close--!"  
  
Her ears twitched as they caught something quiet, shallow and distant. It sounded like someone had fired a bottle rocket nearby--ten bottle rockets at least; a furious, burning hiss that seemed to intensify by the second--every hundredth of a second.  
  
"SHIT!" Yune exclaimed vociferously. "INCOMING--!!"  
  
The last syllable of her man's terrible howl was cut off, the very exclamation points burnt to an unrecognizable crisp as a terrible explosion blasted its way into her head, shaking her brain violently to its very core. The back half of the car lifted up gently as though a hurricane wind scooped it up into its grasp--and released it, just like that. The rear wheels came down upon the pavement like a barrel of bricks.  
  
"*OH!! *" She forced it out though a haggard breath, giving the wheel before her a panicked spin. Her body felt like it wanted to tumble onto the man beside, and the metal around her let out a stifled moan as she felt two wheels lift from the ground.  
  
*KRA--THUNK!! *  
  
Yet they only returned to the ground a second later as Sadie screeched to a halt, her restraints keeping her square in the seat. Yune was less fortunate; the right half of his body crammed against the thick console miraculously, while the protruding dash propped him up.  
  
"You okay, Yune?" she asked.  
  
"*Uh... *" he shook his head. "I feel like a train wreck but I'll manage. Just drive!"  
  
"Right!"  
  
Something sounded off as she floored the accelerator, really *off*. The SUV was too still, and it didn't vibrate at all. Nothing roared out from under Sadie's hood, not even a quiet purr, though she kept the pedal planted firmly against the firewall.  
  
"Lay off, Tara!" The AI rejoined belatedly. "I'm stalled!"  
  
"Oh--sorry!" she shook her head, before her fingers took up the key. Her wrist gave it twist, yet her heartbeat quickened in her ears as the motor refused to turn over. The starter replied with a rolling whirr every time she gave the ignition another turn.  
  
"Sadie," her voice was a panicked crescendo, "it's not working!!"  
  
"I know!" Sadie said intensely. "I'm trying!"  
  
***  
  
Sadie had stopped altogether behind a tower of thick, smoldering cover, the mechanical stalker flanking Tara's door evenly before it as it reduced its speed well over half. The missile strike nearly killed the vehicle in a single shot, and that tenacious fanatic behind the glass would seal its fate if she hanged out any longer.  
  
Thankfully, the nutcase paid her conspicuous exit no attention at all. The grapple was at its max, and her dryer took its sweet time reeling it back. The patience of her strength couldn't stand another second as her dryer pulled her up to a distance apart from the team's shinny, chrome savior, so close yet an arm's length too far.  
  
She gave the grapple a second's worth of a second chance before she forced all her might down, through her arms and into her shoulders. She huffed her body up another precious inch before she brazenly threw herself into a whirlwind of chance, her puffy hair caught in the wild drag.  
  
She clamped her eyes, as she felt the wind swirl about, embracing her flying body--  
  
--Before an elbow smacked into a cold, solid bar of steel. Her arm curled around it like that of a monkey, her other hand snatching her wrist as the arm threatened to unwrap. It took a borrowed second while she gathered back her bearings, opening her eyes down as her legs gently waved to the world below.  
  
"OH MAN...!" the terrible air around swallowed up her voice.  
  
Fear quickly drained from her mind while Drazen's Apache lurched further towards its dying game. Tara and Yune protested at the plight that plagued their dying steed, smack dab in the middle of a dirty, bloody shooting gallery of their hunter's making.  
  
Training took control as both hands snatched the bar, and she pumped her legs back and forth like a gymnast. At her forward movement's extreme, she removed her hand of the bar, using momentum to flip her body around on the bar efficiently. She gave her body a few more pumps--  
  
--And her breasts were crammed against her chest as she brought her knees close, driving her legs through the space between the body and the ski. It was sheer luck that she negotiated the rifle's bulky gas break through the space at all. The backs of her knees pinched the bar tightly, and the back of her head touched the very bottom of the copter's body.  
  
Carefully, she worked the butt of the rifle against her shoulder, her cheek pressing against the rough stock. Her left eye closed, the lid cramming into itself while her right peered through the scope, eying that little gyrocopter on the target's tail nicely. She could only manage one shot; there were no more bullets to be used. The strong chill sweeping up her back reminded her strongly of it. It had to count, no doubt about it.  
  
Her brain gave her foot one last command while her finger took up the trigger's slack, her ankle rolling as she felt the string of the grapple wrap around it snugly.  
  
*God... Yahweh--Allah--whoever you really are, * her mind whispered, *don't let me screw up! *  
  
Her lips finished the thought completely in a single, silent word.  
  
"Please...!"  
  
***  
  
The soldering tower of fire took its time, dissolving into the air slowly, shielding his target behind its arced, thinning veil fleetingly. Uzi felt the frustration surge through his arms, his hand trembling while the parts of his combat load rattled. That yellow devil couldn't get away; he *wouldn't* let him slip through his grasp again.  
  
"Shia!" he barked. "The target's stopped! Do you have a visual?"  
  
"No sir!" the pilot called back. "The smoke's too thick! And the fire below renders our infrared and our heat seekers useless!"  
  
"How much ammo's left for our turret?"  
  
"We're running pretty low on it sir!"  
  
"You can bet your ass they're not going to wait!" he thought openly in loud exclamation. "We have to hit them now, and hit them hard! Shia, unless you want to make this Indian do a fucking rain dance, get back on the machine gun! Spray and pray till you're dry! Then hit them with another TOW!"  
  
"You got it, Mr. U!" the pilot replied.  
  
"Where's Avi?"  
  
"He's hauling ass, sir!" Shia said. "His team just passed through a checkpoint now."  
  
"Tell him to haul a freaking elephant's ass then!" he yelled.  
  
"Sir!"  
  
Through the thinning, shifting column of darkness, a slight headache pounded behind his crown as his only working eye peered deeply in. He could just barely make out a streak of red, solid red that belonged not to the hot patches of fire. The target was still there, parked intrepidly, perpendicular to the street it sat on. Yune egged at him sinisterly, the yellow devil just had to be!  
  
"Yes!" a smug grin tugged at his lips. "He's still there! Shia, fire at will!"  
  
"Sir--!"  
  
He felt his body shift oddly in the seat as the steel around him vibrated gently, strangely.  
  
"Shia?" he laid his back evenly against the seat. The utter vibrations passed from the machine, through the shards imbedded in his skull that sliced a green, nauseous crack into his brain. The very sides of his sight curled up slightly, as though the world teased him with a gentle, hidden smile, the very prelude to its off the cuff dance around his head. "*Oh...! * What... the heck's--going on!"  
  
"Don't know, Sir!" Shia's voice was in a panicked crescendo. "Pedals are feeling *really* rough--!"  
  
As if his gut wasn't churning enough, his brain trembled violently in his skull as the Apache felt like it was calling forth a rain shower in a terrible, shaky dance. Thin wisps of black blew in gently from behind, disappearing into the air as soon as they revealed themselves.  
  
Shia screamed something terribly, like an adolescent girly girl about to get her kidneys removed with a plastic knife.  
  
"*UGH! *" He grunted hoarsely. "What...?"  
  
"THE TAIL'S BEEN HIT!!" The pilot screamed like pansy. "THE TAIL'S BEEN HIT!!"  
  
He blinked in awe as those words sank quickly into that nauseating crack in his mind.  
  
"Are--YOU SERIOUS!?" he yelled back.  
  
"NO, I'M NOT!!" Shia screamed again. "YOU WANT ME TO CALL DR. PHIL!? JUST TO BE SURE!?"  
  
Another wisp of thin black smoke floated past his window, which caused him to crane his neck over to the right. That interloping 'copter from the Channel 2 network hovered there, indifferent to his trouble while the celluloid kept rolling behind their lenses. A crewman was so bold; he brazenly sat dangerously upon a ski as if it were nothing but a bench in the park--  
  
*What the...? *  
  
It him just like the objects that pummeled the chopper's tail. That person was as much a newsman as much as that object s/he held was a TV camera. It all came together like clockwork during a rally race, as he was certain that a flowing mane of red capped the head of the sniper.  
  
"WELL SIR!!" Shia carried on his irrelevant tirade like a bratty, little girl. "DO YOU!?"  
  
"It can't be...!" the words came out hushed through his clenched teeth, his lips slipping back, over the smooth enamel easily as he seethed. His whole body shook with such a rage, that the fitful Indian had no bearing on him whatsoever. Never had anything--everything appeared so red before. "NO-- !!"  
  
***  
  
Kim felt she was at the very apex of her game, as she sent another heavy round crashing through the tail of the Major's beast; her rump parked firmly on the bar miraculously. Its very life flowed from the open wound as though it were attacked in the dead of winter, blackness oozed profusely while steam escaped it in dark, thin plumes.  
  
Irony was ingrained deep within the pockmarks: the native's of her own country believed this very thing.  
  
The tail began to weave and bob erratically as control slipped from his fingers literally. The little tail rotor wobbled strangely, as though its very edges morphed and shifted before her eyes. The mysterious god must have been feeling generous; He seemingly reached down his powerful hand, and single-handedly plucked the mighty Indian of the feathers one by one, as they sliced through the sky aimlessly.  
  
The Indian's trembling rage quickly overwhelmed it, as its body went careening out of control. Its tail scraped against the nearest building, and a slice of plaster and granite exploded at the touched, pieces showering down upon any who unfortunately stood.  
  
Weight of its massive, streamlined head carried the body over the roof of the building. God yet again reached His hand down, and tore at the native's spinning headdress, tossing the pieces every which way imaginable. The mysterious deity wasn't as forgiving as she thought, as a thin, black line cut at her with incredible speed. It sliced right through the 'copter body above her, and out from the line came terrible yelps of a deadly surprise.  
  
"Whoa...!" she said as the ski beneath her pressed against her bum, the copter rolling towards its side swiftly. The cloth of her cargos was loosing grip upon the chrome, and her body bent at the waist as she slipped through the space behind her. But the strength of her grapple line gave her all the comfort she needed, though it did squeeze tightly around her ankle.  
  
A terrible crash resounded from behind the upside down building, the building shook with a mighty rumble while a cloud of dust sprouted up behind it like a mushroom--  
  
The earth shook no more, as the Indian trembled in its rage no more. Its fate had been sealed, the Palestinians could fear no more, courtesy of the great, teen hero, Kim Possible. Uzi was finished.  
  
***  
  
Tara got Sadie's engine to purr in the nick of time, with the eighth twist of the key, as pebbles and chunks mysteriously began to fall to the pavement. The rapping of the stones, her ears barley caught it through a tremendous explosion overhead. She stole a glance above her, at the tail of the beast, warped and crooked, plucked of its sharp feathers, and imbedded deeply into a wall.  
  
From the distance something buzzed like an angry bee, distinctly through the rumbling discord as the tail arced, disappearing over the artificial horizon of the roof--  
  
"DOWN!!" she felt her man's hand crush the poof out her hair, forcing her head down awkwardly--  
  
*KK--RASH! *  
  
Through another terrible, frightening crash, something passed through her hair, big and heavy, tearing at the strands. The glass let out a terrible, abrupt crack. Carefully she lifted her head up, resting the back against the rest of the chair. Locks of her hair resisted, the very extremities tugged at the whole length of the strands. They were trapped firmly into the glass beside that huge, dirty piece of flat, ragged metal, impaling the windshield halfway down its length.  
  
"Shit!" Yune exclaimed. "That could've been your head, T!"  
  
His good hand reached over, scooping up the taut stings in his open grasp as he smoothed over the circumference of the metal. The pale, blonde strings broke, a terrible ripping sound that made her stomach turn. Those long hours of brushing, conditioning, and shampooing, her hard work gone in an instant.  
  
"My hair...!" she whimpered softly.  
  
"Be grateful it isn't your brain!" he said sternly, as he pushed himself to his feet. He picked up his leg professionally, and with a good solid thrust, he forced an edge of the windshield out from the frame. Thick, solid strings of dark gunk fleetingly held fast to the glass before they snapped midway. It didn't take the Asian very long to have the entire, useless pane on the ground afterwards.  
  
"Can you see?" he grunted while he took to his squat, head dropping below the tip-top of his door.  
  
"Clear as this day could get." She replied. "Yeah."  
  
"Good." The cap of black hair nodded. "Sadie, can you active your optic camouflage?"  
  
"Sorry, Asian man." Sadie said. "But everything's shot! Weapons--guidance- -camouflage--hell--it's all gone!"  
  
"Bullshit!" he cursed, pushing himself up so that his eyes were square with the fluctuating readout. "Are you kidding me!?"  
  
"The bull shits you not there, Yune." Sadie said with a touch of her trademark cynicism. "I might as well be the same damn Wrangler you'd find in a Jeep lot!"  
  
"Then we've got no choice." He shook his head grimly.  
  
"But what about Kim?"  
  
"Don't worry about her." He dismissed. "She can take care of herself. Till she can get down, she's on her own."  
  
"But Yune!"  
  
"We're sitting ducks out here!" he said sternly. "This is war, T, and welcome to it! Let's go!"  
  
"But--!"  
  
"Tara...!" he growled gently.  
  
"...Yes sir...!"  
  
She snarled bitterly, and her palms curled around the wheel once again. Lose bits of gravel and whatnot crunched and shifted underneath her as she slowly pulled away. The image of the benign copter behind her was stuck in her mirror, trapped like the girl--the hero--that dangled beneath. She angled the mirror as she rolled, the image trapped on the polished surface, till the motor behind it couldn't move any more.  
  
The image slid off the mirror gradually, blurry and fuzzy as the wind blew in her eyes. There was something to have been noticed, she was sure of it, yet she couldn't pin her finger on it nor was she in a position to do just that.  
  
"Will she be okay?" she thought aloud.  
  
"Whatever may happen," a tingle ran up her back, a warm one that made her feel peaceful throughout, as she felt his hand cup gently on her shoulder, "we just have to have faith. If we believe in it strongly, then she should come out all right. The demon is in Hell now. Even if he isn't, the locals will be sure to put him there."  
  
"I hope so, Yune." She tried to blink the dryness away. "I hope so...." 


	19. Chapter 19

19  
  
"I hope you guys back at the station are breaking out the party hats." Dave kept a heavy eye on his train of thought, keeping sarcasm in professional check as it tried to worm and force its way out of its boxcar.  
  
"And why's that, Schlitz?" the anchor said expressionlessly.  
  
"The Major's helicopter is down for the count!" he shook his head, eyeing the cloud of thinning tan as it sprawled over the buildings, dissipating into the blue the further it reached. "For those of you who just tuning in, the VSA commander's helicopter has crashed in the West Bank, right in the middle of the refuge camp after a pursuit that lasted well over an hour. He seemed to have been pursuing a red and yellow SUV, possibly of American design, before the crash."  
  
"Well that's good news for all of us," the anchor retorted pompously, sanctimonious and infallible as ever, "here at the Channel 2 news desk. If I said it once, I said it again: the Major had to be stopped. With that sort of tenacity and viciousness, we'd have the entire Arab world storming our doors."  
  
*How's that different from any other day? * He rolled his eyes disgustedly.  
  
"He had a problem with this network," he said, "from what I've read and heard."  
  
"How did he crash?" the anchor dismissed him altogether.  
  
"From what we could see," he said, "the tail rotor of his Apache malfunctioned. We should know, since the copter took a blade of it right in the body!"  
  
"Are you alright?" the *putz* inquired in sheer fakery.  
  
"Never felt better, or so alive!" he countered. "The blade passed right through, while the Apache took the Major for a hell of a ride. He crashed right in the middle of the refuge camp, and he is on the run."  
  
"And if he isn't, he may as well should be if he isn't dead."  
  
He the reporter, the one who stuck his head through a noose, could never be granted this privilege. It was a privilege that only prominent yellow-journalists could employ without a single word of open protest, as long as their own butts sat safely, comfortably in their sleek, black thrones behind the impunity of the desk.  
  
"Right..." he sighed abruptly.  
  
"This target vehicle," the *putz* continued, the utter bias rivaling the pompousness already thick in his audible demeanor, "why exactly was the head honcho so hell-bent over it?"  
  
"Your guess is as good as mine." He shrugged. "It is quite possible that his suspect had something to do with the hostages' execution just a couple hours ago."  
  
"Or it could be that someone just picked the wrong day to get on his nerves." The anchor replied smugly.  
  
"Could be," his eyes took another lap around in his head, "couldn't be that at all; we'll never know till the IDF cleans up the mess."  
  
"And clean it up they shall." The anchor replied distantly, a telltale sign that his hour in the limelight became abridged to a typical fifteen minutes. "That was Dave Schlitz, with our... *traffic* report. We have to take a break, but when we come back, we'll hear how talks over the complete transfer of ownership of the Temple Mount can bring peace to our troubled land--"  
  
The headphones slipped off of his ears smoothly, the thick band cradling his sore neck while his shaky fingers rubbed at his weathered eyes.  
  
"Everything okay, Dave?" His pilot asked seriously.  
  
"Let's go home, man." He shook his head weakly. "I need a cold one-- and fast!"  
  
He buried his crown deeply into his palms. Israel was doomed. Its last, possible hope had become a dying wish, dissolving in the wind like the tan cloud beside; and the mere thought of losing the mountain of Mariah hit him like bitter joke. The bones of Jacob would tumble restlessly about at the thought, buried under the rubble that was once his tomb.  
  
"That Prime Minister better not make us regret this whole shenanigan!" he spat.  
  
"I hear that!" the pilot nodded.  
  
***  
  
The dust had rested back upon its dirty street, settling deep down in the cracks that the stresses had ripped open in the pavement. The attack helicopter sat mangled in the crash site, peacefully for possibly the first time in its entire existence, encroached by chunks of concrete and stone and brimmed with a sooty black.  
  
The Bloody Reds' fearless leader sat before him and his son, slumped in his chair unperturbed. Abu had never felt his heart act this erratically before: it wanted to leap for unbridled joy yet this terrifying fear consumed it at its apex, dragging it down to depths he had only dreamed that it would never reach. The group around did best to quell his uneasy spirit inadvertently, as though they all tiptoed though the minefield of eggshells. Most were caught in the midst of a confusing stride, meeting themselves coming and going midway.  
  
"Do you see, Father!" his son beamed victoriously, his Soviet rifle strangled in his hands. "The great Allah had heard our many prayers! He had brought us that vicious heathen on a silver platter, just as He ordained it!"  
  
"Easy Muhammad." He shook his head. "You don't know this man."  
  
"He's a Jew!" his son snarled. "He's a murderer! What's not to know!? As we speak, his followers are probably using our blood for their disgusting pastries!"  
  
"Cornered Jews are more dangerous than jackals, son." He said aloud.  
  
"Ha!" Muhammad said arrogantly. "He's probably poses as much as a threat as a bug."  
  
"Don't be too sure." He noted. "Don't be too sure--"  
  
The voices around were chased away by the gentle breeze, as the mangled wreck let out a deep, loud curse of that heathen language. Pistols and rifles sounded together in a mighty clack, barrels trained weakly against the thick glass that glinted in the sun. The pragmatic, fearless leader was as bold and defiant as ever, just like in all the longwinded speeches he made, tucked away so safely behind that shiny glass.  
  
It just didn't click in his mind. The scum behind their fence thought all alike; it was no big secret, or even one of public domain. Who was this Jew, this rotten, lying filth trying to convince anyway?  
  
The defiant filth let out a painful groan.  
  
"Well this, in Hell, is not a note!" it spoke with such insolence, and such a shaky grasp of the language it despised so venomously that he could barely make sense of it. The people took strange, quick glances at each other.  
  
"Back up, will you!" it growled. "Very much packed, is this 'copter, with SEMTEX! Blow you, easily can it, out of the water!"  
  
A few men beside him let out a grunt, one that even his beloved son shared in. Their fingers curled around the triggers agitatedly.  
  
"The Jew is lying!" a woman's voice roared from the back throes of the crowd, where onlookers eagerly wormed in. "They always lie! Kill him!"  
  
The inner crowd hissed like the great snakes of the desert, voicelessly, and one even went as so far as to voice his retort.  
  
"Shut her up!" the man shouted.  
  
"Right, are you!" it mockingly retorted. "To die, has no one, needlessly."  
  
The machine let out a terrible, strained whirr of its mechanisms, and the shiny glass was tugged open like a puppy dog pulling at his chew toy. The gentle breeze smothered the whirr quickly, and the metal behind the shiny glass whined, as though the machine's plight was eclipsed by its loud hollow moan. The shiny glass over-flexed, and--  
  
*Oh--gross! *  
  
--It touched the ground with a crash.  
  
The high commander of the Bloody Reds, the mysterious, vicious monster of heathen prodigy, shrank to a measly teenager in olive battle dress. But his face--! Oh what a terrible sight, a frightening sight that reflected the very devil beating deep within that fouled, blackened heart! Terrible scarring undulating the face with a deep crack running diagonal, from the forehead, over the sunken white orb, to the fading extreme of his jaw line. It must have had something to do with those shiny, smoothed blades on his balding head.  
  
People around him let out a groan of disgust.  
  
"This is the 'Major' we kept being terrorized by!?" another woman shouted. "He's just a boy!"  
  
"Shut up!" another man shouted back.  
  
"To you, Mr. Boy!" it shouted, and it lifted its arm into the air, as high as it would reach. A device was clenched in its grasp; a clunky, cumbersome one that looked like it belonged to a remote controlled toy. "Explain this, do I, have to?"  
  
A couple people around him cursed, and some of the barrels of their gun dipped a little, trained toward the littered street. The eyes of the curly haired boy behind the thing were wide and jittery; lips capped the "neck" of an orange, translucent container no longer than half a pencil, no thicker than a roll of film. The curly top let out a wet cough the second the cylinder was free of the lips.  
  
"Set, is this trigger, for one second!" it yelled brazenly. "Kiss the sky, will you, if I die! Sit here, are we all, nice and easy! Until, comes for me, my party!"  
  
"Father, please!" Muhammad hissed bitterly. "The Jew is lying! It'll do anything--say anything--just to get loose! It even admitted it! We must kill this thing before it's too late!"  
  
"I fear it might already be too late, Son." He drew a shaky hand across his brow. "Let us go home."  
  
Muhammad blinked at him, blindsided seemingly as though his girlfriend had smacked him upside the head. The tanned hands eased their strangulation upon the grips of his rifle, and his shoulders dropped in defeated incredulity.  
  
"But Father--!"  
  
"Take me home, Muhammad!" he felt his brow furrow a bit, and his robes whipped opposite of his motion as he moved through the crowd, squeezing through at times where the bodies were pressed so tightly together.  
  
Bodies... he shuddered at the thought. Though he wished against it feverishly, he couldn't deny the utterly *real* possibility, the *real* predictability. Whatever it may turn out to be, he didn't want to be near when the corpses started piling up, and neither did he want to scoop his son, his beloved son up like others from the bloodbath the next street over.  
  
"Take that man's lead!" it let out a mocking chuckle. "Away you go!"  
  
*Allah...! * He winced a bit, jerking his head spasmodically as a shiver ran down his spine. *Turn not paradise away from all those who come to you this day. Let them receive your mercy, and your many brown-eyed virgins awaiting them. Let them finally come to know peace, great Allah, and give that wretched Jew his just punishment in Hell! *  
  
"So now what, Father?" his son inquired, shifting the sling on his shoulder so that the flank of the Soviet rifle came to rest at his side.  
  
"I don't know, Muhammad." He shook his head. "I just don't know..."  
  
***  
  
A small cloud of dust blew up from the pavement, fogging over a small pool of crimson briefly before her squinting eyes, the only part of Kim's body that could move naturally. Her body ached deeply throughout while she baked helplessly on the pavement, the dark, hot asphalt like fresh road- kill. Her tense muscles burned with an excruciating pain, so bad that she dared not wince an inch or millimeter.  
  
*OH--DAMN!! *  
  
The sheer pain made her want to curl into a ball. It seized at her throat, clenching it tightly so much that her small breakfast and a belly full of bile wanted to crawl up the length all on their own.  
  
"GOD!!" she screamed, knuckles popping as she balled her fists.  
  
Everything was going so well after Drazen went down, taking a bite out of the very dust his mechanical behemoth kicked up from underneath. The big rifle slipped off her body, plummeting to the unknown below after her bum had lost its grip on the chrome ski. One of the innocents below could have it for all she cared; it turned in a flawless performance, and would serve its newfound owner well.  
  
*God knows... *ah*--they could use the help. * She had thought.  
  
Her abs yanked her trunk up by the front, and she had gotten a hand firmly around the cord of her grapple. Her arms singed with exhaustion, fighting it tooth and nail while her ankle worked itself free of the cord. With the toes of her boots pointed strongly at the underbelly of the 'copter, and her abs keeping her body in a crunched, acute L, carefully she had let her legs--  
  
--*SNAP!! *--  
  
--Drop.  
  
Gravity seized her by the hips, and it pulled with all the might its center could muster. A piece of the cord flailed before her, its fringes short and ragged, waving at her in its captivity in the fierce drag. It had no hindrance on her muscles as their conditioned memory took over, pulling the length of her body into a ball as she let the momentum do the rest--  
  
The roof of the building below was closer than what she had thought; she was only halfway out of her ball, yet that didn't stop the very most edge of the roof from smashing evenly atop her shoulder. A terrible fire blazed deep within, erupting from the very bones and sinews that held it fast, as the joint had been forced down the length of her body too far. Her body went limp, and her muscles had done nothing to keep their strength as she tumbled side over side like a doll made of rags.  
  
Her face became flush with something soft against her body; she felt it stretch against her cheek. Then it had contracted as though it shrank ten times, and her body had lifted off of the textile like she had been tossed on a trampoline. Her body flipped over on its back; the wind had blown against her sore back. It felt relaxing, so much so that she could have been in it all day till her eyes had caught that dark blue awning, seemingly rushing past her with its little, curly fringes waving goodbye--  
  
Her back finally had smacked the hot, pebbled ground, hard and unmoving, her spine ablaze intensely throughout its length. Carefully, she had turned on her side, and there she sat.  
  
Her eyes rolled up and down up and down easily in their sockets, drinking in the colors around just as the cracks in the black asphalt sipped at her spilt crimson. People daring enough to stick their necks outside gazed at her, eyes unblinking like paparazzi, murmuring aloud with hushed voices as though she the Princess of Wales.  
  
Gravel crunched softly from behind, loudening and loudening till the person was right beside her ears. The singeing hope that one of the walleyes around had grown a conscious was burned out as a pair of boots rounded her head, and the loose gravel shifted underneath no more as they stopped right before the pool of her red. A boot's toe gleamed a dark, faded reflection of her as the owner took a loose, duck footed stand.  
  
--Her heart skipped weakly as her ears caught a clack from above. An annoying soreness swelled at the complementary sides of her eyes, straining as they ran up the height of the boots. That glowing flame deep within died, as though the owner of the boots snuffed it out underfoot, as she caught a sliver of olive above where the black laces were knotted firmly.  
  
The instep of the closest boot pressed against her stomach--and sheer pain paralyzed her instantly as the person rolled her--shoved her onto her back. She pained to keep her eyes open, to see the face of the one who'd do her in. But she wished she'd let her lids to their job.  
  
The man: he didn't look as terrible as Drazen or his pompous, despotic father for that matter. Thick scars, plump, fleshy scars rolled a half of his face messily down the middle, from the middle of his squared widow's peak, through the bridge of his nose, and to tip of his jaw. Wherever she may go, it'd be burned in her mind forever, just like Drazen, while the scarred man in the ALICE gear placed the barrel of his bullpup rifle in the gentle valley between her eyebrows.  
  
"Well, well, well...." A smirk tugged at the mangled corner of his lips. "Look what the cat dragged in."  
  
"She looks like crap, Sir." A voice nearby her said. Her eyes rolled towards its point of origin. The nameless punk standing cattycorner, behind from the scarred man carried a huge rifle-- *her* rifle--in his arms, a tiny wisp of gray floating up, out of the gas break. It took what little strength she had left to keep her arm from giving her crown a good whack.  
  
"Good shot." the scarred man's gaze never parted from her own, as much as her crawling skin wanted, that eerie, empty gaze that penetrated her very soul. It unnerved her greatly. "I didn't think you could actually hit!"  
  
"It's easier with the sight." The punk nodded. "I guess treasures really do fall from Heaven after all. God must have been feeling generous today."  
  
"Indeed." The scarred man was expressionless, as soon as the mangled corner dropped his lips.  
  
"Well, Sergeant." Loose bits of dirt crunched and shifted little by little, at an even pace as the punk took a few steps toward her, shifting out her sight briefly before he emerged on her other side. Like the cowardly vulture, he was circling around her, eyeing as though she was nothing more than mere time between an animal and an easy lunch. "She doesn't look like the talkative type, but I do admit she has a pretty mouth."  
  
"I hear that..." he shoved it off with a slight shrug of the shoulders. "Not that I'm into that kind of thing."  
  
"Isn't Tank Man though?" She blinked, her brow kinking barely, and sorely. "I'm sure he have some fun with her."  
  
The punk slipped behind the scarred man's firm build, gone for a moment before he slipped out on the opposite flank. The scarred man let out a brief, single chuckle though his parted lips.  
  
"Not that there's anything left on him for such activity." He said flatly. "And even after a few sessions, there's no guarantee she'll talk."  
  
"Then should we make it permanent?" her heart skipped at the words.  
  
"No." it quickly slowed to more of a natural pace. "We take her back to headquarters. I believe the Major might know who she is."  
  
The scarred man's eyes tore away finally. He barked loudly away from her, something unintelligible, yet she knew--just somehow knew that there was some sort of rhyme and reason to it. She was pretty sure she had heard Ronald speak something like it before.  
  
Distantly, her ears caught the disjointed percussions, clunking and slapping. A motor growled to life nearby, and loose bits of earth grinded against each other. Her eyes were pretty sure they saw the very top of an olive vehicle, running quickly over the large, mounted gun, as it rolled past.  
  
She swallowed hard, and pain stabbed throughout her head, as the muzzle seemed to have gained some weight in the middle of her brow. The scarred man pulled himself into a crouch, looming his body closely over hers, using the barrel for support. Those terrible burns, she couldn't get away from them as they leaned into her face. Her skin crawled away from his touch, as he ran a finger over her cheek.  
  
"You are..." he batted his dark eyes, "American?"  
  
Kim rejoined nothing; she motioned nothing.  
  
"Irish?" he said.  
  
She felt a small tick twitch at her eye.  
  
"Answer me, you Mick!" he growled.  
  
Her fist tightened habitually; the searing pain in her forearm eased her fingers instantly.  
  
"Why do I have the feeling that I've seen your face somewhere before...." Her soiled cheek was relinquished of his finger. He simply then placed it upon the furrows of his chin, rubbing at it.  
  
"I guess you were right, Sergeant." The punk said. "Looks like this songbird won't peep at all."  
  
"Then you owe me a shekel."  
  
An aching groan came out of her mouth. The barrel grew heavier for a moment before the "sergeant" moved himself back onto his boots. He crossed his legs at the ankles and he untwisted them with practiced ease of a soldier, spinning a complete 180 degrees.  
  
"Until our ride comes back, we're stranded." The cap of his dark, straight hair swayed gently, back and forth with subtle movement. "Be on alert! Most of the filth may be busy washing up their kin with a hose, but they wont stop at that. Everyone's a hostile! Got it?"  
  
"Sir!" The punk whipped out a straight arm, hand flat and straight. The elbow unlocked, curling into itself; bringing the forearm in a good 150 degrees.  
  
"And try not kill any children this time." Her jaws pressed together tightly at the teeth at the indifferent sigh.  
  
"Of course, Sir." The punk replied. "But... what if I *must* kill them?"  
  
"If you must," the scarred man said easily, as if it were actually that simple, "you must."  
  
She wanted to puke.  
  
***  
  
"Great!" Tara cursed faintly, easing the car to a sudden, screeching halt. "Just *fucking* great! Are you happy, Yune!? WELL ARE YOU!?"  
  
It was time well wasted. It took her several minutes to turn Sadie around, even though she was able to do it in less than half the time. Yune had a hold on her, warm yet taut as though she were a slippery fish. Yet as much as she respected his wishes, this fish couldn't--wouldn't--go with the flow. The thick console and the broken arm put him in no position to say different anyway, though his mouth tried vigorously.  
  
"I told you not to turn around, Tara." Yune's note came through a sigh, defeated like there was nothing else to say, to do, or even to try. "And I didn't even tell you, I screamed at you!"  
  
The wheel's meeting with the bottom of her fist was short, abrupt as she continued to rain blows upon it. The piece trembled in the fierce shower, so fierce that she felt the car quake gently beneath her bottom.  
  
"Can you see, Yune!?" she seethed, dropping her head into the gap between her outstretched arms. Her hands clutched the wheel tightly, wringing it, strangling the buoyancy straight out the finger grooves. "Can you see!? Take a good look at her, Bin-Mok, because this is probably the last time we'll ever see her!"  
  
"Give him a break, Tara." Sadie rejoined for him. "It's not like he's psychic, you know!"  
  
It didn't matter anymore if he had been blessed with the gift for foresight or not. Kim was down for the count, with no signs for a comeback anytime soon. The auburn lay there a block away, twitching and writhing, her locks smoothed awkwardly on the street. Two men in olive drab circled around her like hyenas to an easy meal, one proudly flaunting her large rifle about as a trinket for a hard day's work.  
  
"You!" she eyed that indifferent fluctuating screen with as much ferocity as she could muster. If only that program had eyes that she could stare darts, sharp pointy darts, right into. "And what do you think!?"  
  
"I don't think--"  
  
"That's right!" she growled. "You don't think AT ALL! You just crunch the numbers, and pick what you think--what you *compute*--are good choices! NOTHING ELSE! DO YOU GET THAT, SADIE!? THAT'S ALL YOU DO!!"  
  
"Now hold on one goddamn minute here!" The AI's bars fluctuated in dissent.  
  
"All those numbers you crunch..." she shook her head. "All those *possible outcomes* you compute, yet your huge, honking chips can't process a blunder--an *error* as you might call it!"  
  
"Tara, please...!"  
  
"No, Sadie!" that green readout shrank smaller and smaller the longer she gazed it down to size. Snot rushed back up her nose with a sniff, letting all the drawn air out her lips in a quieted gush. "Whether or not you chips are silicone or potato, you maybe able to process *anything* except how to live with a mistake!"  
  
A tear slipped out of her eye, trailing down her cheek while her crown met the crest of the steering wheel.  
  
"Tara...." Yune said.  
  
"We..." she sobbed, blinking to keep the water where it was, "can we save her, Yune?"  
  
"We're almost out of ammo, T." he replied flatly.  
  
"And my tank of coolant's about to have an aneurysm!" The AI replied unsolicited. "I can't do another figure-eight race around the camp!"  
  
"Tara." He said again. "This is not your fault, my fault, or even Sadie's for that matter. Kim knew the risks, and knew the numbers were not on her side. Yet that didn't faze her whatsoever."  
  
"And I *do* know that she go down like that Apache, just so we can play a whimpering, sitting duck!" That piece of junk interjected itself again.  
  
"But..." she sniffed, "I didn't tell her--I'm sorry...!"  
  
"I think I know she does, T." A warm tingle ran up and down her back, as his palm tapped lightly against her shoulder blade. "But you have to pull yourself together. We have to get out of here before the gruesome twosome spots us!"  
  
Her knuckles popped as her grip tensed on the wheel. She snapped her head back quickly, the back of it bounced against the headrest.  
  
"Where to?" She asked emotionlessly.  
  
"Out of the West Bank for one, T." he let out a soft chuckle, ill timed. "Take us to Jerusalem. We'll link back up with Ron, then we'll figure something out from there."  
  
"Fine!"  
  
She pushed the knobby lever up a notch, so that it rested evenly beside the "R". Her back strained to keep her straight while her trunk twisted around, towards the door, taking an arm from the wheel and wrapping it oddly around the back of her seat. She eased off the brake. The vehicle rolled back, crawling towards the adjacent wall with a slight shift of the wheel. Her arm untwisted when she could make out the small fissures on the upright slab, placing it back on the wheel while the other went for the shift lever.  
  
"When we pick up Ron today," to her man, she shot him a look that pierced deeply into his dark eyes as she moved shifter, "you can tell him of this *victory* yourself!"  
  
"I will." He nodded deeply.  
  
Sadie began to lurch, and she opened the throttle up a little bit. The drag lifted up strands of loose hair as the air ran smoothly over her head. The junction rolled at them quickly, and she stole one last glance at her mirror as she eased the vehicle to a crawl. Kim was but a blur, a little smear on the glass like the bits of dirt caked on. She wasn't even sure if it was the girl at all by the time she was in the midst of a left turn.  
  
"I'm sorry, Kim." She thought aloud. "Forgive me...."  
  
***  
  
*That redhead thinks she's all that. * He thought calmly. *But she's not... she's not.... *  
  
"Major Drazen?" the warped speaker made a crackle, intonation slipping through the static and out through the twisted, metallic honeycomb.  
  
Uzi was surprised that anything still worked after that terrible spill, where his pride and joy had degraded to a malformed jalopy, parked in its deathbed on the mongrels' front lawn. Thankfully his ace up the sleeve still functioned perfectly, just as he hoped, keeping the hordes at a silent, weary bay. Quizzically, he scooped up the microphone, using the thumb and index while the others kept their stranglehold upon the lengthy trigger.  
  
"Oh... ah!" he thumbed the button carefully, awkwardly as the microphone just threatened the grip of his fingers. "There we go! *Ah--! * This is Major Uzziel Drazen speaking. Who is this?"  
  
"This is Private-First-Class Reuben Gad, Sir." The speaker crackled back. "I must say it is an honor to speak with you."  
  
"Wish I could say the same, *Private*." He frowned. "This is an encrypted channel! How the hell did you get this?"  
  
"My apologies, Sir--!"  
  
"My ass, Private!" he growled. "Answer my question! How'd you get this?"  
  
"My patrol at Ben Gurion has in custody two people from Spain." The speaker spun away, though it clearly sat right beside the catch for the microphone. "An elderly man, with some pretty boy beefcake. I think it might be a son or something. My CO's questioning them right now, Sir. The old man claims he knows you."  
  
His brow cocked. "What do they want?"  
  
"He said that he loaned you some money sometime ago, Sir." The voice replied. "He said he wants a return on his investment."  
  
"Well, can this day get anymore *exciting*?" He closed his eyes, shaking his head gently.  
  
"Is it possible that you could grace them with your presence, Sir?" the voice asked. "I mean, if you're not busy or anything--"  
  
"Why on earth would I be busy!?" he snapped. "Sure, my 'copter's been shot down and a whole damn camp's worth of mongrels are staring at me with rabid, jackal eyes and gun barrels! But no, I'm not busy! No sir! Let me just whip my magic teleport out of my ass really quick!  
  
"Oh wait--! That's right! I don't HAVE A FRIGGING MAGIC TELEPORT IN MY ASS!"  
  
"Good Lord, Sir!" the speaker gasped a rough crackle. "How many are down?"  
  
"Great looking out, maggot!" his eyes took a lap around his head. "My teams are down. Five presumed dead, four vehicles toast, Lieutenant Bonnet and I in a standoff, and a fucking partridge in a pear tree, maggot! Get it? Got it?"  
  
"Yes sir!"  
  
"Get Sergeant Avi Jude on the horn ASAP!" he barked. "He's in the area somewhere, and tell him to pick us up on the double!"  
  
"Your location, Sir?"  
  
"Just have him follow the mongrels!" he growled at the thought. "I've got a feeling that they won't want to miss the show! And get on it ASAP! Jesus can hold them off only for so long!"  
  
"...Jesus?" the speaker replied rhetorically. "Since when were you religious?"  
  
"The Jesus Trigger, maggot!" he chuckled a bit. "When push comes to shove over here, we're all going to find religion really fast at a flick of a switch!"  
  
"Uh... right!" the speaker said. "Sir, what about the Spanish twosome?"  
  
"Oh--just escort them back to the Organ Grinder!" he whined. "I'll deal with them myself! Just get Avi here NOW!"  
  
"Yes sir--!"  
  
His ears twitched at bit, catching the sound of gravel moving, shifting loudly underneath a great weight. Some of the angry walleyes shifted their wide, angry eyes away, as far as their muscles would let them roll. Through the forest of legs, he saw pairs of them far in the back part way, a big way as something huge tried to roll through. The crowd before him had their heads turned away, barrels of their illegal contraband arched up and way. Soon they moved slowly apart, grudgingly making way for the sweetest sight of steel and olive paint he had ever seen. His red insignia on the hard, olive canvas was so beautiful to his dry, weathered eyes.  
  
"Gad, forget about Avi!" he smiled. "I see my ride's here."  
  
"Yes Sir!"  
  
"Major Drazen out!" he tossed the microphone away like it was scrap. Shia made a little rattle behind him, then the curly top made another one before a small *clomp* and another rattle.  
  
"Ulcer getting to you?" he asked impassively.  
  
"Why wouldn't it, Mr. U?" the curly top batted it right back to him. "North Korea's medical contribution, no doubt. And it's costs me a damn fortune!"  
  
"Forget about that little... *uh! *" It came out like a grunt, and the deep blue space was right before him, the wreck looming over him as he found himself on his back. "Yellow devil, Bonnet. His curtain will fall, just like all these disgusting wretches around."  
  
He pushed himself up onto his feet; his drabbed forearm a brush, sweeping the dirt off his BDU. Shia had crawled onto the edge of the wreck, where the canopy and the cockpit met, his body in a squat with hands flat against the edge like a frog. A small cloud of dirt floated up from the earth, from the curly top's boots as he hopped down from his perch.  
  
"That's some serious firepower, Mr. U!" Shia's intonation assaulted his ears as thought a dim redneck from United States stood right next to him. The curly hair shifted around atop his head, his body twisting complementary to the movements of his head. "I knew we should have brought our ALICE gear!"  
  
"Point taken, Shia." He replied distantly as he creaked for the Hummer. The detonator took the lead, training it in as many directions as his range of motion would let him. He spun on his heels quickly when he was at arm's reach from the open back door, and his butt sank easily, safely into the seat as he slipped in smoothly. "Hurry up!"  
  
"Right!" the vehicle moved gently as the boy hopped inside like a kid.  
  
"Let's move!"  
  
The driver gave a quick nod of the straight, black hair. "You got it, Sir!"  
  
Luckily, there was enough room beside the crash site that the Hummer squeezed through instantly. The four-way stop rushed at them quickly, and his knee flattened against the seat, taking a look over his shoulder as the vehicle cleared the intersection. Sharp blasts of yellow, and puffs of white smoke filled the air behind as the rabid mongrels yelled after them. Many rushed through the jalopy, using the same clearance the Hummer used while others climbed, crawled over it like animals.  
  
"They're coming after us, Sir!" Shia eyed the crowd warily, yet he paid the boy's sudden apprehension no mind.  
  
"We have to get Avi too, Sir!" the driver exclaimed. "I don't know how long he'll last out here, especially with this hot reception!"  
  
"Don't worry about it!" his lips pulled into a smirk, and he moved a finger from off the detonator mischievously. "I'm sure the lord and savior of the Christians will take care of everything...!"  
  
*Say hello to your Allah! * He laughed triumphantly; the mongrel's fates sealed like a burning drip of wax. He felt little tension return to his fingers as he flexed them like the detonator did with the trigger, nice and wide, as it tumbled to the floor with a *clunk*--! 


	20. Chapter 20

20  
  
"You know what I see, Missy?" Bile oozed up Hershel's throat, but a quick swallow easily shoved it back down to her stomach, where it belonged. Why she drove through the shortest route, back to her boring, sterile office, she didn't know. Her cell had let out a sharp, purring ring from her pocket, as soon as her shoe had touched down upon the tile, past the front door.  
  
"No," she sighed, loud enough so the deaf ears of the strange, bitter man could catch easily, "but I have a feeling that you'll tell me, Mr. Ambassador."  
  
"Very good, Missy!" the bitter man chuckled. "I tell you, I look out the window in my embassy office right now--even as we speak--and you know what I see blossoming to the west of us?"  
  
The wheels beneath squeaked like mice as the cool leather enveloped her back firmly on her descent, rolling gently away from the desk. Thank the good Lord, she did, for a quality, leather chair, because she was going to need all the comfort she could get.  
  
"Not sure, Mr. Ambassador." Bones popped as she rolled her head around, pressing the back of her skull against the plush cushion halfway on the second roll. "Some pretty flowers, fig trees, or even some acacia wood perhaps?"  
  
"What?" the bitter man's growl was like a bulldog's, possibly with the bite to match. "You think you're some kind of comedienne, Hershel? Think you're the next Mel Brooks, eh?"  
  
"Maybe." She shrugged. "I do like his movies. Have you ever seen 'History of the World", Mr. Ambassador? I think it's more realistic than anything I've read in a text, Sir. Though I do have to disagree with the Jews-in-Space shtick--!"  
  
"ENOUGH!!" the man barked. "I'll--just--tell--you!"  
  
"If you please...!" she capped a hand over her stretched lips, keeping in the laugh that desperately wanted freedom.  
  
"If it's not enough that you have vigilantes running around, doing whatever the hell they want, killing who they want," the ambassador exclaimed, "now it seems that they, and their lunatic of a leader wants to torch the entire West Bank!"  
  
The laughter sank back into her throat; her hand arm lowered down to its rest.  
  
"What?" she said.  
  
"What do you mean what!?" the grouch threw it back. "You heard exactly what I said!"  
  
"Maybe you can calm yourself down a few minutes, if your super-id doesn't mind taking the back seat." She said. "Can you reiterate, please?"  
  
"Fine!" the bulldog growled. "One minute, all's well with the land for a rare change. Next thing we know, your 'Major' showed up, and blew a block sky high behind the fence! I still see a nice, thick cloud of black burning several miles away!"  
  
"And...?"  
  
"*And... *" the bulldog replied, "I wonder how long till I call the President, Missy! It's clear as day the Knesset won't do anything to stop these terrorists--!"  
  
"As opposed to your government's appeasement with the 'militants', Mr. Ambassador!?" the taste became suddenly bitter. "It was the United States that started this whole Temple Mount turnover crap in the first place--even so far as withholding loans from us if we didn't cooperate!"  
  
"Damn straight, Missy!" the bulldog barked. "We let your whole fence drop off the Road Map, clean and clear! But don't you dare think you can weasel your way out of this, Missy! We won't let it!"  
  
"Like the way you weaseled out of your government's 'Gladius' fiasco?" her lips bittersweet, smile flush with the utter contempt for that arrogant American. "Or like how the PA came out strong of another tongue lashing? Please, do clear this up for an incompetent Jewess like myself, hmm...?"  
  
The bulldog's retort came in a low, soft growl.  
  
"What?" she asked. "Too much of a challenge?"  
  
"You know what I just got word, less than an hour ago, of?" he dismissed.  
  
"Nope," she shook her head, "sure don't."  
  
"I just received a phone call, stateside, from the Middleton branch of the FBI." He said strongly. "A certain Webmaster and known hacker, by the name 'Wade', had been arrested just recently. It seems this kid had broken his probation."  
  
She felt her heart jump. "So...?"  
  
"He hacked into your computer network, using some new fangled-techno- gizmo-crap." He grumbled. "He claimed he knew you as the police dragged him away. I don't know; all I *do* know is that it strictly went against the terms of his probation! And for that, the feds will personally make sure he gets the stiffest sentence the DA can throw at him! Consider this a second strike, Missy!"  
  
"Second strike...?"  
  
"Yes, Ms. Hershel!" the bulldog said. "Your second strike! Letting these terrorists have carte blanche was your first. Reel them in, and don't suffer the children to do it! Clean up your house, Missy!"  
  
"Or you'll what?" her back unrolled from her slouch, as she sat up straight.  
  
"Or... we'll do it for you--!"  
  
A crackle of static invaded her ear, and all went silent inside the receiver. She let out a sigh, and her phone made a little *click* when she closed its halves like a castanet. It was like a rock, pulling at the flap of her jacket as she let it drop into the pocket. Her body too felt like dead weight, as she wanted sleep to overwhelm her like the leather of her comfy chair.  
  
"Ms. Hershel?" there came a small rapping at her office door, before the knob rattled and the man behind the familiar voice pushed it ajar.  
  
"Ms. Hershel--?"  
  
"I'm here, Tuvia." Her fingers were like teeth of a pick, combing through her locks of hair, shifting them to an overall presentable arrangement. "Come in."  
  
The heavy man strolled inside, his button-down chest wobbling a tic with every move of the neatly pressed legs of his pants. His full, dark hair shifted side to side. Several pieces of paper were pinched in his pudgy hand, and a look full of apprehension twisted his face.  
  
"What do you want?" she sighed. "And what's the look for? It's not like you found a forty-pound watermelon in you colon, did you?"  
  
"No, ma'am." The dark man shook his head. "But after reading these.... Damn!"  
  
"What?" she sat up.  
  
"We just received a report from one of our contacts in the West Bank." The man explained. "It seems that Major Drazen's Apache had been shot down over a refuge camp. No prizes for guessing whom though."  
  
"Kim actually took him out!?" her hands clenched on the armrests, leaning her chest out from the chair back.  
  
"Well, yes-and-no." he gave a shrug. "She succeeded in taking the 'copter down, but it looks like Drazen crawled out of his dirt nap once again. Blew the wreckage sky high, and took out a chunk of the refuge camp with him. And..."  
  
"This is the business, Tuvia." She rolled her eyes. "Just say it!"  
  
"It looks like they captured this Kimberly girl also." She frowned. "We don't know how they did it, but this report clearly shows it. 'Approximately 2PM, two VSA soldiers shot down a petite woman with flush, auburn hair, before a huge explosion rocked the camp. Possibly caused by the crazed Major, but there's no way to prove it. About 10 minutes later, an olive Hummer with VSA markings rolled up to the two soldiers. They piled inside after the pushed their prisoner into the back.'  
  
Now who do we know with flush, auburn hair? Hmm...?"  
  
"Okay, I get it!" she frowned.  
  
"Question is, what the hell are we going to do?" he asked.  
  
"Ten to one," she thought aloud, "they wouldn't kill her, just yet. Not till Drazen has his go around."  
  
"And his gruesome brother." The heavy man added. "Maybe, there might be something left to save after his turn. But even that's doubtful."  
  
"There's no proof that a twin even exists, Tuvia." She shook her head. "Don't concern yourself over rumors. But she might have that locator card."  
  
"And...?" Tuvia leaned, twisting his head around so that an ear took the lead. "I'm listening."  
  
"I can see that!" she growled. "Just scan the frequencies until I say. Search for anything out of the ordinary, and report it at once."  
  
"How long?"  
  
"Till I say, Tuvia!" she pushed herself to her angled feet, wobbling a bit. "Now move!"  
  
"Just one more thing, ma'am." His pudgy fingers rustled through the papers, the white, blackened sheets atop found themselves at the bottom of the stack. The rustling came to a crescendo that abruptly ended with one last whip of the papers by the flick of the wrist.  
  
"Yes?" she said.  
  
"Our S&T department cracked the contents on that ZIP disk you recovered." He said. "The offices were at a standstill when we figured out what exactly we had. In fact, you can probably still hear a pin drop over there, if you hurry."  
  
"What's on it?" she asked.  
  
"To put it simply," the large man shrugged, "they're activation codes for a nuke."  
  
"What?" she blinked.  
  
"Yep!" he nodded. "The power of the sun, right in our hand. Then again, how's that different than any other day? When our 'neighbors' aren't coaxing us to give them up, that is."  
  
"A nuke?" she said. "What kind of nuke?"  
  
"There's reason to believe strongly it's the American Gladius system." He said. "The numbers, algorithms--hell--everything matches perfectly."  
  
"But..." she was at a loss for words, "how...?"  
  
"Looks like Drazen gets around." He shrugged. "Should we call the Ambassador regarding this?"  
  
"No." she said. "We keep this inside the building for now."  
  
"But what the hell are we going to do with it?" he asked. "Gladius has been dismantled--!"  
  
"Bah!" she interjected. "Knowing the current American administration, they probably kept up and running, despite the uproar."  
  
"But why bother--?"  
  
"Is it really *that* hard to comprehend, Tuvia?" she said. "As of Nagasaki and Hiroshima, they've been the dominant superpower. And given the sheer amount of nuclear knockoffs turning about over the last half century, to maintain their own policies of deterrence, they need a weapon of overwhelming power. It's not that difficult to understand."  
  
"That makes sense, somewhat." He shrugged.  
  
"Remember, Tuvia," she said pointedly, "this is to be kept within this building. Issue a memo, or hold a meeting--whatever! Just make sure everyone knows it!"  
  
"But of course, ma'am."  
  
He bowed pompously, turning on the heels of his cheap loafers. His trunk wobbled as he went for the door, but he turned his head back as he reached for the knob.  
  
"Ms. Hershel?" he said.  
  
"Yes...?" she sighed, folding her arms in a huff.  
  
"How long, do you think, this team of yours will take, ma'am?" he asked.  
  
Her eyebrow kinked. "Excuse me?"  
  
"You know what I mean, Ariel." He said. "These are some bright people you got under your thumb. Don't think you can keep the truth from them forever."  
  
"Once again," her eyes took a lap around, as did her head, "I have no idea what you're babbling about. What truth? What are you talking about?"  
  
"About the *real* Drazen." He said. "About his little ragtag team, and whatnot."  
  
Her heart skipped a beat; her arms dropped to their respectable sides, and her back met the comfy seat of the chair once more.  
  
"They're going to find out about it sooner or later, Ms. Hershel." The man continued. "And when they do, the good Lord only knows what'll happen."  
  
"Then let's hope that they don't." she said.  
  
"Wishful thinking." He sighed, and door pressed against his backside by his own will as he strolled out the door. "I don't blame you."  
  
The knob made a racket, as the nameless part latched back into the frame. She jammed her hands into her armpits, folding her arms, laying her fingers flat against her ribs. The chunky heels of her pumps dug into the carpet, scraping her to a stop as her body wanted to slip right off the chair. With her head bowed, she closed her eyes. Kimberly, the refuge camp, Gladius, Drazen; the burdens lifted themselves off her tired form, as slumber's gentle hands carried her off to dreamland.  
  
*God, * she thought transiently, *watch over Kim this day. Please keep her safe, for me... and for Ron. Please.... *  
  
***  
  
Amazement. Sheer amazement, it was, how three trashed vehicles, a wrecked 'copter, estimated well over 30 million dollars worth of damage lead to the end of a great day.  
  
The good Lord knew how many went to meet Him that day, only to be shunned off into the eternal darkness, foul of death and that sulfur-like stench that polluted their dismal grounds for over an hour. But when the dust settled back onto their bloodied, pebbled streets and the smoldering fires burnt themselves away; his prize--his trophy--waited for him a block away, bruised and broken on the street at the end of the afternoon.  
  
It bounced and bobbed before him now, its extremities hogtied, hanging deliciously on a stick as two of his nameless men carried it along like pork on its way to the burning, rotating scaffold. It probably wouldn't taste as good as Babe, not that he ever ate of the unclean animal, but his brother would predictably beg to differ.  
  
"Well, Major Drazen." The fore-grunt made a sound like his crude title. "What should we do with her, Sir?"  
  
"We just got back home..." He yawned. "We're beat, plain and simple! I'm sure we'll figure something out, sooner or later."  
  
"Maybe we'll let the Tank Man have his way." The second grunt replied. "She'll squeal like a little piggy then!"  
  
"Later." He sighed. "First, hand her over to the Doc. Have her patched up and whatnot. Later tonight, she's going to need all the TLC she can get."  
  
"Ha!" the fore-grunt laughed. "Right, Sir...."  
  
"Damn right I'm right!" he affirmed.  
  
"That's a laugh, Drazen!" his trophy laughed.  
  
"Shut up, Bitch!" the fore-grunt yelled. "Or we'll do it for you!"  
  
"Can't do much when you're playing Miss Piggy on a rotisserie stick!" the second grunt interjected, as though to punctuate his buddy's words properly with useless embellishment.  
  
"Well what do you know!" she claimed irreverently. "You're astute! Some one break out the champagne!"  
  
Though he relished in the sweet reward in the earning of his trophy, it had such a hateful shine that hurt his eye just by looking at it. Then again, it didn't glare at him as much as it did, didn't helplessly poke at him after a swift hook its scratchy crown. The glare seemed to fade and it dimmed out of sight.  
  
"Thank--you, Sir!" the fore-grunt made with another suitable noise. "I'd thought she'd never shut up!"  
  
"You're welcome." He said.  
  
"Man, why the fuck do we got to carry this *shikse* for?" the second grunt whined. "Shouldn't this be that newcomer's job?"  
  
"I hear that!" the fore-grunt rejoined enthusiastically. He lifted his end of the dowel, pulling more of its thick length over his shoulder. "That little shit needs to get broken in, jammed in the trenches like me. Still remember what the Major over here put me through."  
  
"You were being an ass." He shrugged. "What else could I do?"  
  
"I know!" the fore-grunt said. "Just thought you were a *putz* with a head full of hot air and big dreams, result of some old fashioned nepotism from old man Drazen. But after working here for a while now, and especially after today, I read you wrong! Then again, how is your old man anyway?"  
  
"Ask Ben about it." He said. "He's dead too, and enjoying his little patch of Hell like Dad to boot. Hell--they'd be reaming this wench's ass together, if the Havoc crash finished the job for me!  
  
"I still remember how he always told me I was the greatest of his sons, even the unstoppable man mountain, Deutsche! Until the day it just... stopped."  
  
He gazed impassively at the trophy that hanged on the dowel, silently for the first time since the few women under his wing had stripped it almost bare. Humbled was an understatement. Dignity was fleeting, a joke as it hanged broken and contused in a dark sports bra and matching panties, a burlap bag staring back at him vacantly. Kimberly Possible, hero of teens and men, champion of this disgusting mud ball of errant creation, clutching weakly to the lowest rung of the ladder over the course of an afternoon.  
  
"It--right here--decided to stop it." He pointed indifferently. "Stole my father and my brothers, all in a single day. Almost killed me too."  
  
"Uh..." the grunts were speechless, "right--Sir!"  
  
"Like King Solomon!" he smirked. "A time to sow, and a time to reap! And boy, won't this harvest be sweet! Won't be as sweet as Hershel, the queen *shikse* herself, but still! Right, guys?"  
  
"You bet, Sir!" they enthusiastically replied.  
  
"Good answer!" he smiled.  
  
The huge blast door towered over them as the rusty catwalk ended. Uzi was more than obliged to cram his odd face into the biometric scanner. The walk over the oil vats took too long, he thought every time he passed them over, and the thick fumes of oil were overwhelming. Thankfully, that didn't stop the huge, impassive door from doing its job without a hint of protest. It howled open, it slow journey smooth in large part by the thick slab of a counterweight dangling beside the walk. The two, armed guards behind the door jumped to their feet, gracing him with a salute.  
  
"Sergeant Jude is entertaining our guests along with Lieutenant Bonnet." He gave a half salute back. "Have their tribute brought down before them. I'll be in my quarters if you need me."  
  
"What about you, Sir?" the fore-grunt asked.  
  
"I'll be calling... *family*, if you'd call him that." He replied. "Then I'll join you. I feel some gloating coming on!"  
  
"Hah...!" the second grunt rejoined. "You got it, Sir!"  
  
***  
  
"You see, Junior?" the old, Spanish coot waved a wrinkled finger at that pretty boy of a progeny. How did the feral art of genetics worked? That was a million-shekel question Shia had no answer to. "A proper villain always follows up on his investments or his loans!"  
  
"Pf...!" the beefcake's dark eyes rolled along with his own. "Whatever! I'm late for a session at the tanning salon!"  
  
"Junior!" the old father snapped.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Junior, Junior, Junior...!" the pelt of salt-and-pepper tresses shifted as the coot shook his head. He blinked; he saw a nice piece of it move--*slip*--further than what surely should have been the roots natural range. Yet he couldn't have been too certain as the coot's weathered fingers ran through the slicked-backed mat. "I tried taking the back seat, I tried a tutor, heck--I tried every piece of advice from The Book of Evil! My son, what am I to do with you?"  
  
"Well, you could find me another decent pair of trousers!" the beefcake angled his thin waist oddly, the dark eyes glued to his behind. "Is this material supposed to lose its sheen so quickly?"  
  
"I say you hand him over to the Major's brother." Shia shot a dirty grin. "I'm sure he'll give this pretty boy a nice *chit-chat* in the art of villainy. Or is it cannibalism? I'm not exactly sure, but I am sure it should do the trick!"  
  
"Mind your own beeswax, Louis Stevens person!" the pretty boy's look was strange mixture between a bitter frown and a pout.  
  
He rolled his eyes. "Why does he keep saying that?"  
  
"Not my fault you look like that goofy kid on the Even Stevens show!" the beefcake folded his arms. "Same voice, same face, same everything!"  
  
"Bah!" he scoffed.  
  
"Bah yourself, tacky curly top!"  
  
He felt his knuckles pop as his fingers curled themselves into the palm tightly. A hand dove into his pocket, fingers plunging blindly into the soft, scratchy depth for his bloodied tool.  
  
"Tacky!?" the hard discovery ran up his fingers, up the length of his arm, digits clamping around one of the stubby broom handles. "Why you little--!"  
  
"Lieutenant Bonnet!" a voice called out from behind. A loud *CLANG* swallowed the voice during its boisterous ring. He spun around, on his heels, towards that annoying lift the mechanics had yet to work the kinks out of.  
  
Two grunts in typical olive drab, guys he was overall certain he had seen scampering about before, hunched on the settling platform, a long dowel crowned with knots of rope clenched in their hands. Both lumbered out of the shaft like Neanderthals, hauling that thick stick as though it had dinner strapped on.  
  
It must have been the Tank Man's dinner; he felt his gut churn as his eyes flanked the length of the dowel. A female hanged from the dowel hogtied like the very animal the knots suggested, a shapely body of pinked, white flesh wrapped skimpily in dark undergarments. A rough, scratchy looking sack enveloped what should have been the head.  
  
"Yes men?" his hand retreated out of the pocket empty, and both went behind to the small of his back, fingers of one hand grasping the wrist of the other lightly. "Can't you see that I'm entertaining guests here?"  
  
"We do, Sir!" the grunt at the front replied. "The Major himself sent us down here, just for the sake of your guests."  
  
"That's all well and good, Private--!" "Corporal... Sir!"  
  
"Yes...!" he sneered gently, though muscles ached to tug his lips a little more. "Of course...! But if you're delivering Tank Man his lunch, might I suggest you take a different path?"  
  
"Lunch...?" the beefcake said like a squeak.  
  
"Yes!" he nodded, and his body made the pretty boy whip into view, courtesy of his legs. "Lunch, Senor Senior Junior, it is lunch--for the good Major's brother. I bet this girl dangling from the stick was a wannabe villain, just like you. Ten to one, I bet she worked here in the Organ Grinder--!"  
  
"Uh... 'Organ'... 'Grinder'?" It was one heck of a cringe; the large boy's face twisted, his dark eyes wide and shimmering, while he crammed three limbs into his body. The old, Spanish coot's lips pulled into a smile, giving his a quick nod for some reason.  
  
"Yes, Junior, the whole reason why the Major gave this facility that very moniker." He smirked. "You see, all the villains who are lazy, and don't do their job are sent here, hogtied like the very wench you see before you! Soon, they're hand delivered to Mr. Organ Grinder himself, for one... final... meal!"  
  
"B-Bah...!" the hunk of putty stuttered. "Bacon and Eggs...?"  
  
"Even if there was such a course," he shrugged, "let's just stay that the wannabe's couldn't enjoy it for very long."  
  
Not even in a blink of an eye, the honking beefcake was down on his skinny, shiny knees, on the slick, dirty cement, his large tanned fingers laced together above his head. His eyes were closed, the lids furrowed and wrinkled as the brows threatened to overlap them.  
  
"Please, Father!" the putty shook his hands furiously. "PLEASE! Don't leave me here to die!"  
  
"You know, you are getting your expensive pants a little soiled, my son." the coot smiled warmly, serenely as though all was well with the world.  
  
"They are going to be more dirty in a few minutes!" the son cried. "Don't leave me here to die! PLEASE!! I swear I'll be a better villain! I'll even memorize every word in The Book of Evil! PLEASE FATHER!!"  
  
"Well, since you show such promising enthusiasm," the coot shrugged, tapping his cane on the cement, "why not?"  
  
"Oh--thank you--THANK YOU, FATHER!!" the son's eyes popped open, glistening beautifully in the hot, bright light of the halogens above. The beefcake took the coot's closet hand into his own, where his lips... engulfed--for lack of better word--the shiny, rotund ring on the gnarled finger. The coot's weathered face twisted into a cringe.  
  
"*Uh...! *" The coot groaned, turning his face away in disgust. Shia laughed.  
  
***  
  
"Robin," Ron shrugged, fingers curling weakly around the shiny handle of the Peugeot's door, "I have to say it's been fun, but I've got to jet. The dang SUV probably blew a gasket about now!"  
  
"I would have to agree with you, Mr. Head." The black girl jerked the lever impaling the steering column up into its "P" position. "It has been fun, has it not?"  
  
"It has." He nodded, and the door beside squeak ajar with a clunk. "Maybe I'll see you again sometime?"  
  
"Who actually knows, Mr. Head?" the girl sighed. "Will my Shia ever return my calls? Did his terrible employer finally bite the dust? Will peace ever know this tiny nation? We must be thankful to the good Lord for His great knowledge, for I do not have the answer to those questions."  
  
"Good point." He lifted his leg, shifting it toward the crack between the door and the car, and letting gravity tug it down to the ground.  
  
The Western Wall was quiet. The large expanse before it empty, he noticed while he faced the door, all of the worshipers gone home for the evening, security gates closed and locked tight. The sun winked its goodbyes in the deep orange sky, twilight creeping toward the west with grand, practiced bravado. Sadie, Ms. Audacity herself, might as well have been a ghost. The gas-guzzler was nowhere to be seen.  
  
"And it looks like my ride isn't here." He noted. "Where is she?"  
  
"I haven't the slightest idea, my friend." Robin said. "Maybe she is late?"  
  
"I don't think so." He shook his head. "I may be a few minutes late, but it's not her style. Something might be up with Jane."  
  
"Maybe," she said, "maybe not. Who knows? But do not wait in the cold for a long. Keep warm with me. This car has the air conditioning, you know."  
  
"Yes, I do know." He nodded, flopping his foot back onto the matted carpet, the car rocking with a wham of the door closing. "It maybe a French car, but its better than kick in the ass!"  
  
"Indeed it is." Her dark fingers fiddled with the primitive console, three drumming on the buttons while the others twisted the knobs. The car let out its mighty breath into his face, a warm and pungent stench that smelled like feet for some reason. Robin's body sank into the chair, her rump carrying her body into a slouch while her arms folded tightly into herself.  
  
"Relax and enjoy yourself, Mr. Head." She said. "We might be here for a time. Care to listen to some radio while we wait?"  
  
"No thanks." He replied. "After that odd, little air stunt this morning, I'd rather not know the details."  
  
"Dress yourself then!" she shrugged. Ron blinked.  
  
"What was that?" he asked.  
  
"I said you can dress yourself." She said.  
  
"Oh--!" he blinked again. "I think you mean *suit*, Robin--as in 'suit yourself'. That's how it's said."  
  
"Ah--right!" she nodded.  
  
"Of course I am!" his lips pulled into a wide smile, teeth peeking from behind them. "It's good to be right once in a while."  
  
Something honked nearby, a loud and boisterous one that blasted into his ears as if someone took a nap on the steering wheel. Thankfully, the still quiet of dusk flowed into his ears swiftly (or was it the AC?) as the mystery person must have taken a hint. Loose bits of solid earth grinded together softly, loudening as a hollow purr engulfed the munching.  
  
Out the nearby window, a vehicle--a large soiled vehicle--flanked the small Peugeot as it rolled slowly beside. Above the driver's side door floated a little head, blonde; the wavy, platinum strands dirty and in a frayed, tangled mess. Blue eyes dotted the face, saddened eyes that struck him deeply as though they pierced straight into his soul.  
  
"Ron?" the blonde called. "Is that you?"  
  
It was Tara; it had to be, just by the sheer timbre of the girl's voice. The dirty door creaked open; crumbs from the mud that caked the panel fell onto the street, losing themselves amongst the loose bits of earth. Her slender feet smacked onto the ground, the blue lacquer on the nails soiled with a light coat of grime, the flesh brownish at the arches.  
  
"Oh, thank God!" she hopped closer by the balls of her feet. Her hand took the lead, disappearing beneath the horizon weather-stripping and up the length of her forearm a bit. The Peugeot's door clunked open for the second time, and slender arms wrapped him tightly in their embrace around the neck. "I was worried."  
  
"Tara?" his hands cupped over her shoulders gently, easing her away. He nearly lost himself in her blue gaze, eyes broken and glistening in the car's safety lamp. "What's going on? Where's Yune?"  
  
"I'm right here, Ronald." His ears tingled, catching that accent over the crunching of the Asian's intense footsteps. He slipped out from behind the caked vehicle, his clothes grubby as those of his girl, black cap of hair an array of messy, curly points trained everyway possible. A small, chunky revolver aimed itself straight to the ground inside a weak grip. "Lucky to be here, in fact."  
  
"Who are these people?" Robin asked. "Are these friends of yours?"  
  
"Of course!" he nodded. "Couldn't wait to see them again too."  
  
"And why do they call you, Ron...?" she said suspiciously.  
  
"He'll explain to you some other time, Miss." Yune shook his head gravely. "And after this, I don't think you'll ever want to hear from us again."  
  
"Are you guys okay?" he asked. "You two look like hell! Barely look like you can stand on your own two feet."  
  
"Believe me, its true." The Korean said.  
  
"What's going on, you guys? I thought Tara was on a flight back home. And where's Kim? Wasn't she supposed to be with you?"  
  
The blonde moved herself away a few steps, her back unrolling as she moved her body out of the cab. The wind caught up loose strands of hair, locks floating in the soft breeze. Her eyes dropped to the dirty ground, her arms held each other up gently by the hands out of a certain shame, glowing from her like the faint reflection off her skin by the fleeting daylight.  
  
"Go ahead, Yune." She said softly. "Tell him."  
  
His brow cocked out habitually; his heart jumped, something indescribable tugging at it callously while it upped its pace. Then only did he realize how the crass vehicle beside let her purring engine do all the talking.  
  
"Why do you have Kim's pistol?" he said.  
  
The Asian walked at him sullenly. The shiny pistol in his grasp mooned him as the man let the plastic grip flip out his hand, hanging by his finger through the trigger guard. Three fingers flipped it upright, the frame resting awkwardly in his closing palm, his thumb steadying the gun by the saddle joint.  
  
"Here..." he said flatly. "We found in the glove box a few minutes ago. I think Kim... might've wanted you to have it."  
  
His heart felt as though it were being squeezed to death, longing to escape through the thick bars in his chest, reaching that critical, frantic thrashing prior to its arrest. Fingers twitched erratically, weak palms dragged toward the ground when cold, molded steel chilled the flesh. He gazed blankly at his own morphed reflection in the steel, yearning for that kind, emerald eyes to stare back at him--  
  
--Just somehow. 


	21. Chapter 21

21  
  
"Is this thing on...? *Ah*!"  
  
Drazen rolled what he could of his eyes; the voice of that incompetent buffoon of a doctor was like a terrible pain, so awful that he wanted to take a spoon, drill inside his head and scrape it all out.  
  
"This is--*UM*--Doctor Drakken!" that blue-crusty buffoon exalted himself proudly, loudly that even both his ears rang with that rough, nasal tone. "If you are with any form of government agency with a warrant for my arrest, then this number exists only in your imagination! Please hang up, and don't call back!"  
  
The cell was about to kiss the unforgiving wall deeply, flatten itself against the steel far beyond the stresses that the plastic could take. Genetics was a feral science, like wild, untamed bison in an aimless stampede; he should know. How a great man like his father was related to his dork was beyond comprehension.  
  
"If you are still on the line, then please record your message at the beep!" the dork continued. "Uh...! SHEGO!! Turn this thing--! Oh--that's right! She's gone for good. DAMN IT--!!"  
  
Never he knew what such pleasure he could find in such a single bleat, an insipid, droning bleat that soothed his ears the millisecond it killed that terrible discord.  
  
"How you graduated from that evil medical school's beyond even me!" the receiver swallowed up his words greedily, as though it too had enough with the abuse the bad doctor put it through. "Say hi to Doctor Evil for me while we're at it. If you hadn't have guessed it, Dr. D, it your cousin Uzziel Drazen, Major formerly of the Family Private Army. Is it cousin, or some other title? Not quite sure how this whole family tree branches off, but I bet the flowers on your limb pollinated amongst each other, eh?  
  
"Don't get it?" he chuckled softly, rounding the sharp corner. "It wouldn't surprise me. Anyway, how's that little shanty you're held in? Falling apart at the seams? That wouldn't surprise me either, considering how that little Kim Possible *putz* said she'd put two in your head if you ever showed your face again. Remember that? I do. And I called-- grudgingly--to tell you that little bitch won't be bothering you ever again. You hear that Drakken? You'll never hear from her again!  
  
"*OH*--!" gravity pulled at the blades in his head as he angled his head in thought. "Damn drug's wearing off again! Anyway! Did you get that last part, before the drug comment? You bet your blue, ashy ass that you'll never hear from her again! She's currently in my custody, being held without proper treatment like that Geneva Convention declares, just the way you like it, right? Then again, you probably didn't hear since your too scared of your own damn shadow to answer the phone! That would be that Shego's job, right?  
  
"I don't know..." he yawned. "But since you're too cowardly to answer your own damn phone, you therefore forgo your opportunity to execute the rabid bitch yourself and my twin will have to do it himself. Ah--I don't think you ever met Galil, did you? Not that it matters; the guy was never his sweet self again since that dog bit him in the leg, back when he still had a pair. Oh well...!  
  
"Take care, blue dude!" his voice even tasted of bittersweet sarcasm. "Rest easier knowing that the bitch of your existence will be done away like the wounded dog she is. Have a good rest of your life, Drew."  
  
His lips couldn't bare the bitterness if he said goodbye. Instead he dropped it into the pocket on his chest with the open flap, at the thumb's touch of the off button. He gave the flap a solid smack with the hand, fingers fumbling the button through that elusive little hole. It didn't matter; the scratchy cloth would soon be off his body, and back into the closet. The door to the commandant's office peeked at him from its fix on the wall.  
  
The tip of his finger scratched at the black, rounded steel, yet the door didn't move open, even as the rest of his hand overtook the knob. It wouldn't budge, as though someone had locked it from the inside...  
  
"Galil...?" his tongue conformed back into that of its mother, his fist hardly smashing into the motionless door at all. "Are you in there?"  
  
"Just a minute, Bro!" his voice came back through the door, scratchy and digitized.  
  
"What are you doing in there?" he furrowed his brow. "Open the door!"  
  
"Hold on a sec!"  
  
"Galil, open the goddamn door!" he barked.  
  
"Just a little longer--DAMN!"  
  
"You're going to feel 'damn' in a minute, G!" his fist clenched tightly. "I'm counting to three: another second past equals another broken tooth!  
  
"One...! Two...! Three...--!"  
  
The door flung open as if he kicked it out of its frame himself, letting out a sturdy bang as it hit the adjacent wall, moving back slowly at less than half its initial speed. Galil sat there, literally in his tracks at the bedside, a look as stupidly innocent as his twitching, darting eyes could suggest. The arm of flesh was twisted behind his back.  
  
Nothing appeared out of place as his squeaky, titanium leg led him inside: white bedspread nice and neat with hospital corners, desk orderly with Israel's favorite giant of Gath standing tall beside the goose-necked lamp stand, and newspaper clippings and pictures like smoothed wallpaper. The room was like a giant shoebox, trapping them inside a prison full of inescapable memories, memories he'd rather let the sands of time erode but wouldn't. He knew he ordered some super glue for some reason.  
  
"You hiding snuff in here, G!?" he demanded.  
  
"Nope!" the tin man shook his terrible head, the lips of flesh pulling into what appeared to be some sort of grin. "Not me! I keep that all in my fun house!"  
  
"Then what the hell are you doing in here!?" he yelled. "We've got work to do! High priority personnel are on site!"  
  
The limb of flesh came out from behind the man of steel, in his hand was tube, an end with a gaping hole with some kind of plunger at the other end. The hand of steel took up the tube as the unnatural limb went parallel with the floor, the hand of flesh jamming it into the sharp pinch at the joint before it took up the plunger. A mighty blast of colors and streamers exploded from the tube with a pop.  
  
"Happy birthday!" Galil *smiled* as much as the actuators on his cheeks let him. Uzi's muscles dragged his lips down, a millimeter per every piece of colored trash that littered his floor, with even more falling from the ceiling.  
  
"Wrong day!" he growled, eye stuck on the floor like the trash around him. "Definitely the wrong place, G! What the hell do you want?"  
  
He winced as that tin can of brother dropped the tube like as if it became unpleasant.  
  
"Bro!" the Tank Man said. "We need to talk about my high priority prisoner you brought back!"  
  
"You don't have a high priority prisoner, G." His brow kinked at the left, and gravity tugged at the shards crowning him as he angled his head.  
  
"I know!" Tank Man's eyes went wide with excitement, an excitement to provoke or to simmer, he wasn't sure. "Can you believe that shit? But-- *BUT! * Now here's the good part, Bro; I think I found a way to solve this troublesome problem!"  
  
He yanked his eye off of the floor, making it take a lap around the socket.  
  
"What might that be, G?" he said flatly.  
  
"You're going to give her to me!" the thing's smile grew even wider.  
  
"Oh--for the love of--!"  
  
"Mr. U." The intercom feature did like its description flawlessly, Shia's boyish voice crackling out of the speaker. "You're wanted down here at the rotunda, Sir."  
  
"I'll be right there." He called back. "Galil, we'll talk about this later. I've got guests to tend to. Absolutely--POSITIVELY--do not touch that prisoner until I say! Got it?"  
  
"Like Beckham, Bro!" the thing rejoined.  
  
"That's 'Bend it', you dumb shit!" he sighed, treating the thing to his backside as he snatched at the giant of Gath upon his desk. He was halfway out the door before it spoke again.  
  
"But don't you want to see my new flamer, Bro?" it asked.  
  
"No!"  
  
***  
  
"Ron--" The blonde couldn't get anything else past her lips beside that.  
  
"What happened...?" Ron wouldn't let her.  
  
"Ron, listen--!" she tried again."  
  
"DON'T FUCK WITH ME, T!" he sniffed. "WHAT HAPPENED!?"  
  
"I'm sorry about this, Miss." Yune interjected suavely, inappropriately, slipping that speed bag for a head into the cabin.  
  
"I know." Robin replied. "But can I do anything to help out?"  
  
"Nothing, I'm afraid--" The speed bag shook side to side gently.  
  
"Yune..." Its lover shook her head. "At least ask about a nearby hotel or something. After today, I don't think Tel Aviv's a safe haven anymore, and it's too long a drive back."  
  
"Do not worry." Robin said. "A friend of Richard here--or 'Ron', as you call him--is a friend of mine. You are good people. I can easily see it in your eyes, and you've been through Hell and back. I have an apartment in the old city. You can stay with me."  
  
"But we couldn't possibly--!" the punching bag said.  
  
"I insist!" Robin said. "Follow me there; I'll show you the way."  
  
"Thank you very much" Tara said gratefully, "Miss...?"  
  
"Robin," the lady in question finished, "of the family Ata. And you are very much welcome. But we must hurry. Darkness approaches."  
  
"I hear that!" the blonde replied as she turned for the driver's door. The Korean shuffled his speed bag out of the cabin, and Tara moved a foot onto the grimy running bar.  
  
"Come on, Yune." Sadie's door made a clunk without a word of protest, the muddy body rocking gently on the chassis.  
  
"Ron..." Yune said sympathetically, empathetically to be precise, "I'm sorry. Sorry that I had to put this on you, and on *Shabbat* of all days."  
  
"Shut up...!" he seethed. "What the hell do you know!?"  
  
"Believe me," the speed bag nodded, "I know. But, can I trust you with that piece?"  
  
"Yeah...." He felt the sorrow creep between his eyelids, pooling at the edge where they began to trickle down his face. "It's all I have left now... of her!"  
  
"Ron--"  
  
"She's dead...!" he sniffed. "Isn't she, Yune...?"  
  
"I can't say that, Ron." The Asian said. "Because we honestly don't know. There's a chance she's alive, but we'll never know if we stay here."  
  
"This man is right... 'Ronald'." Robin said softly. "Come on now, dear friend. Close the door. I have--what you people call--leftovers at my home. After a serving, I'm sure you'll feel a little better. There's no guarantee; it is not a Bueno Nacho, but it is far better than nothing."  
  
"Okay..." he nodded--and the door was already back into is frame before his arm could reach it. He turned his gaze out the window. Yune stood before him, his arm half extended before it returned to his side as limp as a doll's. A weak smile moved across his face.  
  
"To help you along." The man shrugged.  
  
"Come on, you guys." Tara called, and SUV let out a small growl from under the hood. "Sadie's low on gas!"  
  
"*Uh! *" Yune sighed, turning his backside to him as his crunching steps carried him away. "Coming, T...!"  
  
Ron let out a small chuckle, a finger wiping the tear away. His other thumb ran over the gun's hindquarters, the steel becoming a dead weight as he found the claw hammer in the frame snuggly. It made a weak thump as it hit the carpet, the spongy grip coming to rest barely against his shoe.  
  
His shoulder pressed against the door, all his upper weight behind it. He rolled his eyes up to the velvet sky, as soon as the thin skin at his crown froze at the cold glass. He gazed at the shimmering diamonds longingly, at the being responsible for their very creation.  
  
*Kimmie lays her head to sleep, * he thought seriously, *I pray thee Lord, her soul to keep. Should she die before she wakes, I pray thee Lord her soul to take. Amen! *  
  
***  
  
Kimberly's head hurt badly, as if Mike Tyson himself had delivered a straight punch right into her brow as though she were a reproachful groupie. The pain radiated from out the center of her crown, around the circumference of her skull, clenching her brain tightly through the bone. It pulsed so badly, she'd take a spoon and scrape out the pain if she could.  
  
Slowly, her eyes drew in everything, anything that reflected the intense, bright light above. Her wrists met her ankles awkwardly, a rough braided twine binding them, her limbs curving ungenerously around a thick dowel above. Her sore back rested upon nothing but the cool, viscous air below, leaving its greasy touch as it ran up her back. The only thing missing was the apple plugging her mouth.  
  
"Ah, Major Drazen!"  
  
She blinked, batting her eyes fiercely. The gears in her head clicked instantly. That voice, so smooth and warm as though it came from the far reaches of the Mediterranean, yet so olden and weathered. Images from all over southern Europe flowed through her head, the Italy, France, and Spain...!  
  
*Spain... * her thoughts were a whisper.  
  
"You have exceeded all of my expectations!" the man continued. "You have set up for yourself a nice, little installation for yourselves and you've returned my investment with benefits! Give yourself a pat on the back, if you will!"  
  
"I..." she groaned. "I know that voice...!"  
  
"A shame that the bounty will not be able to enjoy the festivities." The man continued, and thin, hunched shadow flowed towards her, towering over her extremities by a foot or so. The very top of the shade grayed into a mat of salt-and-pepper, slicked back; the faceless form dulled, morphing into tired features, weathered greatly by the sun. Character lines creased the face, from the nose down the cheeks to that squared jaw line.  
  
"Isn't that right, Kimberly Anne Possible!" The senior of the Senor Senior said.  
  
"Senor Senior Senior!" she said. "What an unpleasant... *uh*-- surprise!"  
  
"My thoughts exactly, Ms. Possible!" the coot replied smugly. "It's a shame how you won't be able to toil with villainy's plans any longer. Then again, who's a humble multibillionaire to complain, eh?"  
  
"I'm glad the return was above your expectations, Senor Senior." Her fingers clenched tightly at that Slavic voice, though her shoulder burned with a searing protest. "It was dumb luck that we found her after that unfortunate mongrel taming melee."  
  
"The world would be better if Israel didn't exist?" the old coot said rhetorically. "Bah! I hardly think so! Who ever thought of that should be shot on sight."  
  
"That would be at least sixty percent of Europe, Senor Senior." Drazen replied. "A sixty percent that I think the world could be better without!"  
  
"I always wondered why I found such peace in the islands." Senior said. "And now I know why! How could anyone hate this tiny nation? They've done such wonders for the ungrateful world, and a nice contribution to its seamy underbelly as well!"  
  
"I know!" Her ears twitched a tad, catching that distinct baritone timbre of that goofy curly top of a button man. "I'm sure she'll make an excellent luncheon for Tank Man too!"  
  
"The interrogation procedures first!" Drazen stated. "When this mockingbird can't sing no more, then he can tear off her feathers and her wings! But not beforehand."  
  
"I don't think he'll like that, Mr. U." Bonnet said. "Did you see the way he was acting when we came back? He was looking a bit *too* happy!"  
  
"I'll handle my brother--"  
  
"Your brother, Drazen?" she blinked. "What? Excavating the rest of your sick family just for little old me? That's very touching!"  
  
"Oh Possible..." the Major sighed, "Proud Possible, with little brief authority. Delighted that you're still alive and kicking. But I bet you know I didn't bring you down here for small talk, do you not?"  
  
"Only if you consider ethnically cleansing the Middle East by your fascists small..." she frowned.  
  
"Oh--Americans and your sarcasm!" he snarled softly, so quietly that the words barely tapped the drums in her head. "Oh--some times, I just want to--WOW...! But then, I must admit that I've been looking forward to this meeting for some time now, Ms. Possible, face to face. Ever since you killed my father!"  
  
"Then I guess you'll be looking forward to the same fate." She noted. "Others will come for me, Drazen, and tell your maker I said hi when they do!"  
  
"Not that you'll be alive to greet them!" Drazen shouted. "Within less than a week, my *fascists*--as you so jubilantly put it--will destroy that accursed seed of Abraham once and for all!"  
  
"I've seen that movie with your wretched father, Drazen!" She spat. "It ended badly--as it always does and will!"  
  
"HA!" the head of metal scoffed. "My army's unstoppable, Possible! All who've stood up to them have been cut to the ground like winter wheat! And it appears, wench, that the only weapon left in your arsenal is sarcasm."  
  
Like father like son. Drazen was as hard headed as the ugly, grizzled patriarch that shamelessly bared his surname. All odds were stacked against her now; the evil man had her right where he wanted her. Ten-to-one, he wouldn't let her eyes peek at the beautiful daylight and live to tell about it.  
  
Life felt as though it had abandoned her, shuffling away with indifferent steps, as did the old coot. Its triviality like gold, its inconsequentiality like gems for one single moment. In another instance, few and far in between, for all the many years she had known the freckled boy, he was actually right.  
  
*We... really haven't spent that much time at all... * it raced through her mind like a champion car. A tear of glistening authenticity passed through her lids, eyes fresh with it on their surfaces in a blink. *Ron... I'm sorry.... *  
  
"You two!" the metal head barked to ubiquitous thugs somewhere nearby. "Take the prisoner down the fun house. Sedate her and string her up by the wrists. Tank Man will be down shortly."  
  
"Sir!" they barked back like trained lapdogs they exemplified so perfectly.  
  
"As for us three," Drazen said casually, "let us have a drink!"  
  
"Yes," the coot affirmed contentedly, "let us make a toast, to the end of Kim Possible and the beginning of a beautiful new friendship."  
  
*Oh brother...! *  
  
***  
  
Frivolous nuances were the least of her worries now, yet that didn't stop her. Thick locks of her quaff were clenched tightly in her hand, bristles scratching at it as she moved the brush down the length over and over, combing out the damage done as it were. The thick sliver of metal didn't do as much damage as she thought; it passed cleanly through with the exception of a few split ends; nothing that a little conditioner couldn't fix.  
  
What was it like to pierce deeply into your own soul? Tara thought she knew the answer. She didn't think she could ever look at herself in the mirror anymore, not after today. Still she had to confront herself, staring straight into those eyes as the figure in the tank top and the denim shorts stared back, even for the most menial of tasks.  
  
*Why'd I let Yune talk me into running away? * She thought. *Kim wouldn't do that to me, if I were in that place... *  
  
"Would she...?"  
  
"Would she what, friend?" Another set of eyes stared back at her from the polished pane, dark brown ones that didn't beam the very condemnation that stewed within her. Ronald's newfound friend leaned her figure against the frame gently, in her hands what appeared to be a shoebox.  
  
She gave her locks another scratchy wipe of the brush, before it went airborne, spiraling for the queen-sized bed nearby.  
  
"I'm sorry..." she graced the dark girl with half turn from the heel, "uh...?"  
  
"Robin." The dark girl replied, floating into the room smoothly without much of a bounce in her step. By the girl's dark hand, she made her brush flop onto its scratchy chest before she took a rest on the bed's foot.  
  
"Right." She nodded. "Sorry...."  
  
"Do not concern yourself over it too much." The girl said. "Most people I have met found it hard to believe an Ethiopian like myself could be graced with such a name."  
  
"I guess so." She shrugged. "I don't know too much about what goes on around here... except, of course, what I see on the news, and even its bias comes into question."  
  
"I know." The girl nodded. "It pains me to see that the world would rather see us destroyed than to live with us. We have tried everything, bending over backwards--as you Americans might speak--for them, to show that we want peace. But... we failed. Now, some think, the time for games is over, the time for war has already begun."  
  
"This VSA?" she asked.  
  
"Yes..." Robin sighed. "Any other day, I'd be speaking of that terrible chairman of the PA, next door."  
  
"Why though?" A piece of the bed cradled her hips, as she took to the dark girl's side. "You people have done so much for the world. Why would some go on a rampage?"  
  
"It is a complicated matter, Ms. Stark." Robin shook her head. "We are the most hated off all the nations. And when you have nothing to lose, you have the whole world to gain. It is how Shia said, go out with the big bang, or do not go out at all. Do you know what Israel's motto is?"  
  
She pressed her lips into a thin line, dismally tart.  
  
"'Never again'..." she said quietly.  
  
"Exactly." Robin nodded. "That is basically the vigilantes' mentality, and that of their disgusting leader as well."  
  
She wasn't quite sure of it at first, but her ears did catch a sound from the girl nearby. It sounded like a sniff, a brief and wet one; a prelude to a flood of emotion that even the dams of her mind could not hold back.  
  
"Are you... crying, Robin?" she turned her head. The dark girl had her features pulled tight, eyebrows looming over wrinkled eyes above her crinkled nose. The girl gave a quick whip of her head as her arms folded into her body.  
  
"Yes...!" it came out in a sniff.  
  
"But why?" She asked.  
  
"My Shia..." Robin choked, "he is with them!"  
  
"Oh--good Lord!" she gasped. "I'm sorry."  
  
"I am scared for him! When this rebellion comes crashing down, what's going to happen to my Shia? I wish not for him to die--I don't! He is...a good person--really, he is! You would know that if you talk to him!"  
  
"Robin..."  
  
"Shia's a good person--!" the girl sniffed. "Do not take him away from me, please! I love him so much, I do not know--I just DO NOT KNOW!"  
  
"Robin," she said gently, "did you talk with Ron recently?"  
  
The Ethiopian gave another whip of her head; her frizzy locks swishing like a cat's tail.  
  
"Indeed, I have." Robin said soberly--and her nose took in another wet blast of circulated air. "He had done a good deed: telling me the truth."  
  
"And you're not... mad," her brow kinked, "with us in the least bit?"  
  
The frizzy locks swished side to side, so flamboyantly, her ears caught a rustling like a summer breeze through tall grass.  
  
"No..." a lump shifted vertically in the dark throat, "I am not. You are not to blame; you have not done anything wrong. I understand perfectly why the government would ask for your help. Even your lover told me about Shia's sins while he was still in Europe. Hmm--at least I know now where that stomach ulcer developed from, huh?"  
  
"I guess so...." She smirked grimly. "But Yune isn't my lover--not yet anyway. Not till there's a ring on this finger."  
  
"Yune is a good person too. I can see it in his eyes. He does not seem the type to go out of his way to ill someone."  
  
"He's not." She said. "Don't worry. In fact, he's probably one of the most genuine people I know."  
  
"Be thankful to God for that." Robin noted.  
  
"I Am." She smiled warmly at the thought, and she let her eyes fall on that clean, white shoebox, flaking at the girl's hip. "But what's that you've got there?"  
  
"Ah... this?" Robin scooped up the shoebox easily, the sachet letting out a solid clump. Dark hands laid the box to rest on her lap, thumbs curling underneath the lid while her thick lips pulled into a grin. "It is a gift. I like to give, actually. It is what cheers me up the most, when I am feeling a little low."  
  
"I don't think I can accept--!" She couldn't get in another word; Robin wouldn't let her, just like Ron. It was funny how interjections kept popping up like whack-a-moles, really.  
  
"Nonsense, friend." The dark girl said. "Think of it as a token of a new friendship. I--as you Americans would put it--insist! I spoke with Yune recently, as you already know, and he told me how you broke your shoes earlier this morning."  
  
"You didn't." she grinned weakly, lamentably.  
  
"Actually, I bought these for myself." The lid met the piece of sunken bedspread at the girl's side, the tissue paper rustling in her dark hands as she pulled the flaps away. Nestled on their rough, translucent bed was a pair of black, low-cut pumps, the light glistening on the slick leather brightly. "But given the current situation of things, I thought this is the least I could do. Thankfully, you and I are the same size, are we not?"  
  
There was only one way to find out. She took a shoe from their tissue bed and stood it up on the floor. Her foot slipped in easily overall as if they were her own pair, though the leather was a little stiff, but nothing that a few hours of walking couldn't coax.  
  
"Looks like it." She smiled, and her arms wrapped around the girl's trunk. "Thanks."  
  
"You are very much welcome." She felt two hearty pats on her shoulder blade before Robin pulled away. "But I wish I could do more."  
  
"Well, unless you're a wiz with sport utility vehicles," she said, "this is not Sadie's scene."  
  
"You mean that dirty vehicle you drove back?" Robin asked.  
  
"The very same." She nodded. "After today, I don't think even all the king's horses and men could piece this humpty-dumpty back together. Amazing she still rides like a dream, really."  
  
"Do not worry, Ms. Stark--"  
  
"Please, Robin." She smiled warmly. "My name is Tara. My teachers back home call me Ms. Stark, and I'm beginning to resent it."  
  
"Of course." The dark head nodded. "Tara it is then. But either way, I know this man where I work during the day. He is really good at cars and the electronics. I am sure he can fix up that SUV in no time at all. In fact, I will take it to work tomorrow. I will leave my keys here. Feel free to use my car if you want."  
  
"I don't know about that, Robin." She pulled her foot out of the shoe and scooped it off of the carpet. It found rest beside its twin on the crinkly, tissue bed again, and she tucked them both in, laying the cardboard atop of them as though it were a quilt. "It sounds good to me, but I'll have to clear it through the others."  
  
"That is okay, friend." The girl nodded again, and the bed made a squeak as she pushed herself to her feet. "I had better check on the meat soon. Dinner is almost ready. Have you ever had kosher meat before, Tara?"  
  
"Not sure." She shrugged. "I might have had it before, but I probably didn't know it was. Heck--I'd eat a horse if you cook it right!"  
  
"You Americans and your fast food." The girl's thick lips dropped into a frown, fists at her hips with elbows a jaunt. "That is probably what you have been eating at that Bueno Nacho place! Things are a little different around these parts. If the animal does not have the cloven hoof or chews the cud, we do not eat it. The good Lord declares that in Torah."  
  
"Yet that doesn't stop Ron from eating God-only-knows." She said. "If you've seen him in action, it's quite a sight. You might even lose a hand in the fray, especially with that rodent he carries around."  
  
"I know." The girl nodded. "I had lunch with him today."  
  
"Did you lose anything?" the box sank a little into the bed as she laid it to rest. She pushed herself to her feet, feeling her spine shift back into a proper alignment as she placed her hands on the small of her back. "*Oh-- ! *"  
  
"I am not sure." She put a finger to her chin. "But I did eye that naked mole rat warily."  
  
"Heck--so does everyone back at school!"  
  
"Let us hope that there is something left of the roast then." Robin shrugged. "Come on. It is getting cold as we speak!"  
  
"Okay."  
  
The dark girl floated out of the room as smoothly as she had floated in, wrinkles flowed like gentle waves at the hem of her sundress. Tara let her legs carry her out of the room, but her face nearly got acquainted with the carpet as they stopped in the midst of a stride. At the open door, she moved her chin atop the closest shoulder, eyes staring at that blue clad blonde in the French mirror.  
  
"Just have a little faith, T." The wavy blonde said. "Everything will work out in the end. You'll see!"  
  
***  
  
(Readers and reviewers alike, this is the author of "The Heretic", Unknown number six. I come to write to you all that this is probably the last chapter you will read in a while. As of this posting, I am out of chapters in reserve. You will have to wait until I punch more out, so that I may continue this posting of once a week. For that, I apologize.  
  
(Now, please take the time to read and review, and feel free to express your thoughts on this piece, and be constructive. It would be of great help to me, and give me the fuel I need to continue.  
  
(Thank you for your time, (-Unknown6-) 


	22. Chapter 22

22

Darkness enveloped Kimberly, her eyes foul with the thick blackness, darting every which way, questing for anything in the sheet threadbare. The blackness; it robbed her of her senses. Everything around was still, the air restful and bland. But something scratched fiercely into her wrists; it was difficult not to notice since it somehow kept her arms locked above her slumped head, the bad shoulder burning irritably. That same something scratched into her ankles, the top of her instep strangled with the other Achilles.

"Oh...!" the pain wanted to chew through her shoulder like acid. "-Uh--! - Where... where am I--?"

She gasped, her breath shallow as something made a noise. Sobering fear was thick as it crept out of the shadow just as did the quiet drone--a whirr and a calm rumbling; yet her ears couldn't place it. Her eyes fluttered erratically as her heart caught up with the rest of her. It bounced everywhere, and yet it didn't, or did it even echo at all?

Her nose crinkled, she let out a loud, wet snort. The insipid air grew thick with such a stench, a ghastly, pungent fume that stank of death and rot as though someone rolled in a pile of road kill on whatever made that drawling whirr.

"-OH--! -" She let out a haggard cough. "God...! What is that!?"

Something growled out close by---really- close by, a rumble so thick with such acquaintance and stability, and yet so buzzing and crackling with such intensity that it was practically incoherent.

"Death..." yet that voice, the second, was as so. It wasn't Drazen; its intonation and timbre was not thick with Slavic influence as that of that apartheid fascist. Instead it flowed deeply and neatly with more of a Semitic character, and it was so vivid in her mind as though she heard if fairly recently.

"That is what fills this room, Mick." And it all came together with a click in her head. "Or should I say Kim Possible, that world famous, teen hero bitch that's got a nasty habit of getting in our way."

Something above rang out vacantly--and a fierce light blasted into her wincing eyes from above. Her puffy mane made a black circle on the dark cement below, her toes curled at the sight of it, slick and glistening with grime and a dark puddle of organic nastiness her feet nearly toed.

"Ever seen blood in the light, Possible?" Her reflection shined at her for the second time, in the same place on that pair of combat boots as they stepped onto the circle of glittering cement. "Can't say that you haven't. It looks quite black, doesn't it?"

"Scarred Man!" her lips were in a tight sneer as she brought her head up, clenched throat mustering only a growl.

"Sergeant First Class Avi Jude!" the scarred man stood up straight, darkness robbing her of his arms. "Victims' Separatist Army!"

"'Victims of the Smiling Ass' is more like it." She shot defiantly. "From what I've read and seen. But not of the Palestinian Authority, I'm afraid."

"You Americans..." the gnarled corner of his lips pulled into a smirk. He may have been scared, yet that fire or explosion that still cindered couldn't scratch at that utter smugness. "Why can't the government make people like you understand? And that's a question, I'm afraid, that I don't have an answer to."

"Where... -uh---" She snorted. That foul stench was relentless. It took the darkness around and made it bubble like broth in a saucepan. Even the water brimming her lids ate at her tired eyes like acid. "Am I...?"

"You're in our little fun house, Ms. Possible." The scarred man's better half began to boil as well; his smug grin awash. "Most of the day, people like me buzz around these little events, where many an hour can cheaply, and messily be spent!"

"You rhymed--!" her lungs felt as though they wanted to claw their way out of her chest. "How delightful for you...!"

"Delightful indeed, Mick!" she was sure that dark mass atop his bubbling skin slipped down a little much, the tip of his chin pulling away. "For us..."

She coughed again. Her organs' escape ended abruptly as her throat clenched tightly.

"Don't like the smell?" he said. "Don't worry, Ms. Possible. You will get used to it sometime."

"Sometime...?" she sniffed.

"Yes." He continued. "As of now, you are no longer Kimberly Anne Possible. Your name is WKD4496. And as your host, I feel it is my duty to welcome you to your new home."

"My heart's all--" it wouldn't be long now before she felt thick chunks of she-wouldn't-want-to-know rolling up her throat, "-AH- twitter! -Uh...-"

"Before I take my leave, 4496," amazing how he took to her new moniker--her mark, easy as pie, really. How long would it be till Drazen personally had the tattoo artist brought in, needle in hand as though she were Val Jean? "I would personally like to introduce you to your new friend. I like to think of him as your room mate, personally--but that's just me."

--Everything became white, even with her lids clamped shut. A bright light burned into blazed into her face, through the flesh of her lids and into her eyes. Her tired, beaten body was bathed in it, with such intensity that she felt as though she was basking beneath a tanning lamp--a lot of them. Yet even her mind could not escape reality, her grim fate held fast by such a potent touch.

"WKD4496!" the scarred man exclaimed. "I'm proud to introduce you to your new playmate."

Her skin crawled at the bland touch of his breath, rippling away from where the wisps kissed. Her innards twisted at the real touch, a greasy, leathery wipe from his glove at her cheek as it climbed to her eye. Two digits touched her eyelids, pressing against the ball behind them gently, muscles fighting futilely against them.

--And she wished her lids were like iron, heavy iron that moved for no one. The blackened nastiness at her toes was everywhere, splashed haphazardly around, crusting on the grimy gray walls like careless finger paintings. Utter lack of composition unnerved her, tore at her deep down like nothing of the sort before. There was no purpose, no reason, just as those senseless, shameless acts responsible for their damned creation.

The artisan "sat" on his little tray, flanked by thick bands that rolled aptly as it moved. An arm laid its hand to rest where its lap should have been, the other in a jagged painful crook, its terrifying talon snapping at her like a condor. It opened its terrifying maw--

---Oh--GOD!! - She was certain she felt something trickle from her ears--

--And must have taken in a mighty yawn. Its mouth; she couldn't describe it as it bubbled before her. It wasn't one of flesh, which she could be certain of. It was like a piece of sheet metal, 12 gauges of steel at least, that seemed to cover the entire length of the mandible.

That face! She had definitely gazed upon that disgusting visage before! Those cheekbones, peeking out the gnarled skin of the face. The nose, so bulbous that it nearly blocked the curves of the nostrils. The eyes punctuated its face squarely where nature placed them, hazel eyes that were the exclamation point of everything that she had taken in. It was Drazen...

-And yet... it's not.... -

"Unless you've had those pretty emeralds of yours gouged out of your head, 4496," the scarred man said coolly, "then I believe it's clicked who's responsible for that ghastly stench."

"Porter's... -uh! -" She snorted. "Tank Man robot? -Ah.... - I've wondered where that went...!"

"It was a Robot Rumble contender some time ago." He shrugged. "But most of it's in the scrap pile. The Major's twin was in dire need of a quick fix; no time to get him the proper treatment and all."

"Twin...?" her lungs were shallow with that polluted, terrible air. "Impossible! Family Drazen's dead...! I killed them--"

"As much as you, the long arm of American policy, would like to believe, 4496." Her eyes found some relief. The scarred man graced her with his olive backside, wrinkles thick and drawing down his sides. "You are sadly mistaken. Sure, this -thing---as you'd like to call him--nearly did. It was almost a certainty. That's what you get when you're a little -too- carried away with kerosene, right Galil?"

"Galil...!?" she spat tartly, her mouth bitter with anger and that accursed astringent. "His name's Galil!? That's rich! Uzi and Galil! Tools of the trade: death and war and nothing else! YOU HEAR THAT, G!? DO YOU GET THAT!?"

That twisted monstrosity let out another screech, her warm crimson curdling in the veins, chilled it even in the thick rays, beaming down harshly from above like the Sahara sun.

"I think he said yes." The cap of dark hair shook side to side. "I'm not sure. My Bohemian is poor--or is it Czech now? Thank YHVH that he's got a brother, 'cause we'd never know what to do with him. Probably put him out to pasture."

"Just like everyone who crosses... -uh---your path?" she sniffed shallowly.

"If they get in the way of progress," the scarred man rejoined lightly, "yes!"

"The Palestinians...!" she breathed. "Killing them, to you, is like running over a squirrel. Just some---thing- that gets in your way. But... they're more than that! They're people, Sergeant Jude! Just like you and me! Why can't this nation understand that--?"

Her head suddenly felt heavy, and her neck rolled it to the side. A pain swelled within her cheek, resonating throughout the side of her head. The teeth vibrated in an angry tremble.

"NO, 96!!" The scarred sergeant shoved his fist back into his pocket, flesh around his dark eyes pulled into a menacing glare. "YOU DON'T GET IT!! The rest of Israel's in a dream, catering to a fake nation that might just cater to them! Land--God--dignity! All sold to the thieving bidders: the people of this 'Palestine'! Unlike them, we woke up and saw them for what they really are. As you had put it so eloquently, 96, they might as well have been that squirrel with the skid marks!"

"You're all insane!" she seethed painfully.

"Are we?" the scarred man said rhetorically. "We might actually be the ones telling the truth! But I digress...."

The scarred sergeant turned on his heels, hand clasping the wrist of the other at the small of his back. The acoustics were odd. Her ears felt as though the man strolled right for them, though he clearly walked for that disgusting midget in the corner.

"I'll be taking my leave now, 96." He didn't bother to turn back. "Someone will join you two shortly. Remember this, 96. If you'd like G here to keep his hands to himself, you'd better answer my man's questions real fast."

"Since..." she sniffed, "this is the last time we'll---uh---meet... you want to hear a joke?"

"Hell!" he shrugged. "Beats more time with the Major at dinner. Can't stand another helping of that crappy goulash!"

"Glad you feel that way...!" her lips pulled into a weak smirk. "Here it goes:

"Knock-knock..."

The scarred man let out a sigh, his shoulders dropping as though they were deflating with the escaping breath.

"Who's there...?" he moaned.

"Go..." she sniffed, "fuck yourself!"

Her body curled in on itself, and the pain seemed to vanish in a snap as she let out a cackling fit of laughter. She didn't think the scarred man's shoulders could drop any lower than they did.

"Good one, 96...." He sighed. "I'll have to remember that for later. But, I think I'll leave you two alone now--get to know each other, as it were. Not that it'll matter in the end; you're just a rat in a cage anyway.

"Don't worry though." The sergeant named Jude craned his head around, at a natural curve and angle. His dark eye was like a brilliant bead, beaming the utter graveness deep within his soul like that tight, undulated mess of flesh suggested. "You'll keep Galil surely entertained."

"And what if I don't..." she breathed.

"Then you'll get acquainted real nicely with the stains on the wall." He said. "Enjoy yourselves, you two. Don't stay up all night... if you live that long."

The scarred man lifted up an arm, giving a menial flick of the hand, before his dirty combat boots carried him out the rusty portal. She let her body dropped out of its tense curl. The slab of blood encrusted steel screeched its way back into the frame, the shadows outside escaping out of that shrinking sliver, and with it did her chances for survival.

The freak leered at her. The lips of flesh were pulled flat against the teeth behind, above that expressionless jaw of iron. Its beady eyes seemed to shake within the sockets, its ridiculous talon clawing at her greedily. The "joy" within the creature was deep and suppressed; she could see it struggling to pop that very lid off of itself.

A gentle whirr was a wisp, barely flowing into her ears contrary to that stench. Pieces of her body felt dead and rotten, just about to slip of her bones as that piece of shit rolled closer, its tracks--God help her, that thing had tracks--rolling for her.

-God, if you're out there, I could really use the help! -

---

"Dear friends," Ronald barely caught Robin's chipper alto reverberating sharply off her ceiling, the very expansive ceiling of drywall and rough paint, catching it up with only half an ear, "I will be going off to my work now. Will you all be okay?"

"We'll be fine, Ms. Ata." The Asian rejoined politely from somewhere nearby, that flat, nasal accent bouncing off that same ceiling as it possibly was. Maybe it bounced off the back of the dark couch, looming over his length, if it didn't die on contact with the fabric "Don't worry. And we'll be expecting some company later this afternoon--someone -important-, if you get my drift."

"I have had a feeling that you might." Robin's voice bounced back. "They may help themselves to some goat cheese in the refrigerator just like you, but do not leave a mess for me. My Shia and I do have to live here, as you know."

"And I'm not even going to reply to that." Yune said ironically.

"You'd better not!" A lighter, bubbly voice interjected, from somewhere around where that Korean sat... or stood--one of the two. Ron let a growl catch in the back of his throat, letting it swell.

"Be nice, Ron!" That bubbly voice yipped like a puppy.

--"SECOND!!" His pink buddy squeaked out. His sternum felt heavier, around the stern, as his bucktoothed friend clambered itself upon its hind legs, one of its forelegs outstretched and locked at the middle. The pink flaps that were the eyelids hid the black, rapid beads, and the branched whiskers shifted as it gave a twitch of its little nose.

His eyebrow kinked, his lips dropped into a frown, and a grunt swelled in the back of his mouth irritably. Rufus let out a whining moan, short and sweet, and the weight in his sternum simply lifted off his body.

"Friends, let us not fight." He was in no mood; thankfully Robin played referee. "There is no use at all in infighting. What has happened has happened, and there is nothing that any of us can do to change that! But I am sure we all know someone who can!"

"Easy for you to say..." he huffed.

"For someone of the children of Jacob, Ronald, you sure do act like your Mr. Head alias!" The Ethiopian exclaimed.

"Zing someone who actually gets the joke, Rob!" he growled.

"Dickhead, Ronald!" Yune exclaimed. He was pretty sure he saw that tanned arm flail in the air before it disappeared behind the back of the couch. A solid pat echoed throughout the room. "That's you! Dickhead! Richard--Head! Richard--Dick! Dickhead! I hate it when I have to spell it out for you--DAMN!"

"And you're living up to it quite well!" that puppy dog yipped again, just aching for a good whap.

Something scraped at the matted carpet, intermittent and quick like footsteps. They were footsteps, he was sure of it when dark, slender fingers clasped onto the back of the couch. Robin's shadow draped over him like blanket, the girl leaning against the back of the couch a little below her bosom.

"Ronald," she said kindly, "you are as Jewish as I! You have seen the great miracles that our great god can do! He has brought us all together again, after many years of wandering, He has delivered to us back our homeland, and He is with us always! Why can you not believe that our god, the same one who has done all of this for us, can benefit your Kim?"

"I... just don't know, Rob." He shook his head. "I just don't!"

"Just give it some time, friend." Robin continued. "I am sure that He will soften your heart up. But for now, I have to get to my job. I am going to get Hell if I'm late again."

"Heaven forbid if we should keep you then." Yune said, and Robin lifted her chest from the couch's back. Her broad, frizzy tassel gave him a fleeting wave before she disappeared behind the back of the couch again.

"I have brought this up to Ms. Stark--"

"I told you, Robin." The puppy dog cut off the Ethiopian with a gentle yip. "It's not like I don't have a first name, you know."

"Of course!" Robin replied. "Tara it is then. But anyway, I have brought this up to -Tara-, but I wanted to ask you beforehand."

Tara let out a sigh, just before Yune had his chance to exhale audibly. He let out a quiet chuckle, a chuckle that made Rufus dart his head around like a prairie dog.

"What is it...?" the Korean sighed.

"I wanted to take your SUV to work today." Robin said. "I know this man at my job, and he is really good with all kinds of vehicles. When we met last night, your car was in really bad shape, so I thought--"

"You'd thought you could help us out, yes?" Yune finished her sentence.

"Well, yes." The dark girl continued. "You people are going against an army, not some street gang!"

"Sadie's in no condition to fight again, Yune." The puppy yapped. "She's a train wreck--a borderline jalopy--that can't take much more."

"Drazen's probably put out an APB for her, you guys." The Asian noted. "It's too risky! If some sympathizer spots her, we all might as well be bloodstains!"

"Have you seen her, Yune?" Tara continued. "Mud's so packed on, she's practically a different color!"

Again, that tan arm was thrown up from behind the couch's lengthy back. Another sigh escaped from the limb's owner, one of defeat and exasperation, loud and hoarse. The arm dropped behind the couch, and out from behind came a slap.

"Don't argue with your girl!" The man groaned. "They're always going to win."

"I knew you'd see it my way." The man's puppy yipped excitedly.

"Better than the highway, I guess."

"Trust me," the puppy's bark was smug, "it is!"

"I am sorry, friends!" The bird from Africa interjected softly. "But I really must leave now. Does this 'Sadie' need a key?"

"Yeah." Yune said. "She works just like any other car. But after yesterday, you may want to be a little careful with the brakes. Gotten a little too touchy, if you ask me."

"Can you blame her?" Tara asked rhetorically.

"No...." Cloth ruffled, shifting and scratching on its owner's body for a few seconds. "I don't. A serious tune up couldn't hurt."

There was a jingle--and a small sliver shinned in the brilliant natural light, glinting and rattling with its bulky, black ornament, popping from behind the couch, arcing sharply, and disappearing behind the back about an inch or so from where it came. The rattle sharply stifled, ceased in the midst of a hollow clap.

"Don't make us regret this, Ms. Ata." Yune said gravely.

"There is not a need for such worry, Mr. Bin-Mok." Robin replied jovially. "I will treat your car as it were my own. And to tell you the truth, I've wondered how your American vehicles compare to ours."

"Don't go crazy with her!" Yune said sternly. "I wouldn't want to be you, if Freeman found her crashed into those Old City walls."

"The feeling is mutual, Mr. Bin-Mok." The dark girl countered. "If you need to use my car, the keys are in the kitchen."

"My name is Yune, Ms. Ata."

"And mine is Robin, -Yune-."

Ron felt his eyes roll all by themselves.

---

"GOD--!!" Kimberly screamed; the flesh at her side being dragged and torn to and fro--that familiar sticky liquid gently warmed little of her skin as it trailed down her leg in a steady trickle. Her shot nerves hardly recognized it was even there, barely feeling her toes pressed against themselves, sliding rather too smoothly in between. It disappeared when it tapped onto the nasty, glistening floor.

Soon... she didn't feel it at all, or anything for that matter--yet the swaying slaughterhouse around clearly showed her it wasn't over, not even close. Her heavy eyes caught a glint at her side; glistening of crafted metal and crimson in the hot light, where flesh of a separate two, twisted and twisting, merged... excruciatingly.

A gentle whirr purred into her ears. The freak backed away on its dirty tracks, the monstrous talon waving her goodbye, yet it didn't. The lips of stretched, gnarled flesh curled into its self, sliding back over those pearly whites, slick with thick red as the entire mandible.

"Aw look..." that stone-faced stick of a grunt said mockingly, "he's smiling! If I don't know any better, 96, I think he likes you!"

She let her weak glare do the speaking for her, snorting scornfully. The freak let out a growl, or its equivalent to whatever that ribbed tube stuck in its neck could muster.

"Looks like I'm correct." The stick shrugged. "I guess. I'm not really sure. But as much as it pains me to say it, work has to intrude again if we are to make any sort of progress today! Now let us try this question again, 96: why, pray tell, do you want to kill our benevolent Commandant, hmm?"

"Seemed--" she coughed, "like the humane thing to do!"

"With that kind of attitude, you're going to get a little more acquainted with Mr. Drazen over yonder!" the stick kinked his thin brow. "Given your nationality, it'll be all the more sweeter. But now for our next question: whom do you work for--or with? The CIA; the Ministry of Intelligence Six, or even the Shin Bet perhaps?"

"Drazen's Momma actually!" she spat. "And she told me to tell him that she's very disappointed in him!"

"Americans!" he frowned. "The whole world is the butt of every joke to you, isn't it?"

"Considering that joke of a leader you got!" she shouted. "Do you honestly think the world's going to stand aside and let you tear this land apart!?"

"Of course not, 96." The stick shook his long drawn head. "We don't have to do that. The world is doing a fine job of it. We only want to take back what's ours, and serve to correct those who wish different."

"...I don't believe you!" she growled.

"Think what you want, 96." The thin man sighed. "Doesn't change jack! Whether you're right or wrong, you're cute little ass is still ours!"

"I'm a POW--!"

"POW?" the stick interjected jovially. "HA! Face facts, 96! You're no POW; you're a hostage! There is no Geneva Convention for you!"

"Then do with me what you want!" her crimson wad glittered in the light before it disappeared into the slick cement. "Others will come for me...! You HEAR!?"

"Is that a fact?" that thin brow kinked again. "Then I'll make you a deal, 96: if your 'friends' lack the brainpower to keep away, we'll keep them alive---if- you manage to manage to survive this little interrogation, -and- if you keep quiet. But if you sing me a swansong, the torture will end clean and clear--but..."

Her face pulled into a weak sneer. "But what...?"

"Their lives are mine for compensation." The stick smiled like a shark. "Either way, I win! Simple huh?"

"You're sick!" she seethed. "You all are!"

"Dually noted, 96." The stick sighed. "Now back to business, shall we?"

---

Uzi nodded to no one, lest his brother could see him past the mirror on the other side.

Galil seemed to do the trick, the very trick that a collaboration of the world's lowest of the low could not follow through, nor the highest of the high like dear old dad. In his steel grip, that wench would surely snap like a twig. Even the switch's precious sap, sparkling of G's crimson delight, ran down the length. He thought he could hear that distinct stretch of a prelude to that snapping fissure straight through the pane; it was like the cracking of lumber... or bone, preferably.

Tank Man's tracks rolled for the bleeding switch, his claw flexing continually just as did its predecessor before the kerosene scorched it away. The twig wiggled against the binds futilely, the chains rattling restlessly. The twisted man graced it with its claw, scooping a long, thick branch into its iron grip rather roughly. The links clattered against themselves ferociously when those steel fingers drew--

--"OH--SHIT...!" never before had he heard such a scream, that froze his curdling, cold blood, one that German couldn't hope to utter. –

--To a close.

"My, my, Major Drazen...!" The geezer's third, laminated leg dragged the rest of him closer to the glass. "Won't you might consider that this treatment is a little -too- extreme, even for such a bane as Kim Possible?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "How do you mean, Senor Senior?" he said flatly.

"Where's the tradition?" the coot outstretched his long sleeves in protest, angling his cane inadvertently. "And where's the heart? Without the heart, what makes the interrogation--protagonist's plight--enjoyable? Tell me that, young man, and maybe you'll be a better villain than I!"

"Interrogation?" he took a queue from his brother. "This is torture."

The geezer's eyes popped open, his drawn lips crunched into such a cringe, it even made even his iron stomach turn.

"-Uh...! -" The coot groaned in disgust. "Torture...? You surely must be joking!"

"It's as jovial as a heart attack, Senor Senior." He sighed. "We may not receive any vital information in hindsight, but at least we'll get this troublemaker out of our hair once and for all! Don't you agree?"

"Oh... Major Drazen!" the coot whined softly. "This is disgusting! A travesty of villainy, as it is! This isn't villainy at all! It's a horror show! Do you know how my son will react? He sees this girl as a fox--his blue fox!"

"Blue fox...?" he said skeptically, shooting the old man a look.

"Yes!" the coot tapped his cane harshly against the cement. "Ever since he had gotten his hands on that tasteless Animology book, his feeble head has been circling around that little tart from sun to sun! Then again, I must sheepishly admit, this girl is quite the feisty little vixen!"

"Fox, huh...?" he frowned. "This is no foxhunt, Senor Senior. Okay? Here, in the Middle East, we don't hunt foxes; we hunt jackals! Instead of using bloodhounds, we use Royal Harriers! And let me tell you something, that -thing- you see out there, getting eviscerated is -NOT- a fox!"

"Then what on earth is she, dear man?" the coot inquired strongly.

"-She-...?" He said rhetorically. "That isn't a she! I'm not even sure she's human! And even its humanity comes into question after a few lengthy session with Galil."

"The sin of spin, young Major!" the coot tapped his cane. "The sin of spin: avoidance and deception! When confronted with such queries, a proper villain always delivers a prompt answer to the very best of his or her ability."

He threw his arm up aimlessly, letting gravity slap it against the stump of his leg with a hollow clunk.

"Where on earth are you getting this stuff?" he sighed exasperatedly.

"Ah, The Book of Evil, my young friend!" the geezer outstretched his limbs in grandiose, haughty pride. "With such classics as the evil snicker, the evil laugh! Might I suggest you read it, young Major? It could very much--as you young people might say--rock-your-world!"

"I think I'll wait for the movie..." he dismissed.

"Oh, you young people and your new-fashioned ways!" the coot shook his head, as his dried body curled back into a hunch. Yet he did take a finger from his free hand and placed it on his squared chin, the loose skin on the thick digit practically stuck in place though the bone moved about. "But on the other hand, weren't our ways once new and radical?"

Somehow, Uzi caught the sound of the door creaking open from behind, softly.

"Then on the other hand," the Spaniard continued on, "without tradition, you cannot have villainous morality without dividing it amongst itself, into ambiguous sects. But on the other hand--"

"That's a lot of hands going around." That boyish, carefree timbre reverberated all over the viewing room. "What's next? The Tradition dance from 'Fiddler on the Roof'?"

"Now, don't knock such a timeless piece of theatre, young Lieutenant!" The coot turned on his loafers a weak 180 degrees.

"I'm not exactly sure, Senor Senior." He shrugged. "But I have a feeling--just a slight, sneaking suspicion that he wasn't. But who am I to tell? I'm just the a young chicken-shit, fresh off the boat--WHO'S DONE MORE FOR THE UNDERWORLD IN LESS THAN A QUARTER THAN THE VILLIANS' IN OVER TWO YEARS!!"

He took in a deep breath. "As you can see!" the limb of flesh motioned towards the pane. "The hopeful protagonist has been stripped of all her clothes and dignity... and then some, if I don't keep an eye on G. But that's beside the point."

"And what on earth may your point be, Major Drazen?" the Spaniard pressed.

It was mere child's play. His ranting and raving came down like the final line of a villanelle, sweet, curt, and quick to the point.

"My point, Senor Senior," he rejoined smugly, "that brilliance may not be in need of a genius! Isn't that right, Bonnet?"

"That's gospel, Mr. U!" the curly top replied with forced glee.

"You see," he began, "I woke up, Senor Senior. I realized that no matter where you look, where you turn, or what one chooses to believe will have little consequence. Freedom is nothing more than sheer illusion, perpetuated by those with power--like dear old Prime Minister -Putz-, sitting pretty up north. Causality flows through this world deeply throughout!

"Most people on this disgusting mud ball are in need of guidance--a moral compass, if you will. People look to the stars, others to nature and its indifferent wonder, while some turn to books, as you have yourself. On the other hand--the real hand--it doesn't matter what you've read, what you think, or what you believe! I need no book, no truth--no -rationale- to tell me what I should love, what I should hate, and most importantly--!"

"What might that be, young man?" The Senor folded his arms.

"What--or -whom- I should punish." He smirked weakly.

"Oh, you sad little man." The coot shook his head sternly, condescendingly. "What happened to that lad I met no more than a few weeks ago, huh? His spirit longed for the dreams swirling inside his head to come to pass, leaping for joy. And no sooner had they, he sank to nothing more than a sadistic, hate filled torturer.

"I think that's what a propeller to the face will do to a man, Mr. Senior." Shia firm grasp of the obvious came unsolicited.

"It does not matter, my young Lieutenant." The Spaniard sighed. "I must feel I must pray for your soul, my young Major."

"My soul...!" forced out of his neck came a shallow chuckle. "I guess justifying my existence warrants such actions, yes? Go ahead and grovel to your avatar if you want. Her 'kin' killed my family! That fox beyond the pane shoved a hook through my neck! Maybe your god wants it this way!"

The coot's arm dropped to his sides, his frail body curled into a gentle crouch. His eyes closed, and that mat of salt and pepper moved side to side, opposite that of his head.

"Just remember, Senior." He said. "Cause and effect! That wench tried to skewer me, so my brother will skewer her! Funny, what goes around really does come around after all. But come; let's take our leave for now. This is going to get pretty messy."

"If you say so, young Major." The coot sighed. "If we must...!"


	23. Chapter 23

23

"What is this piece of scrap that you roll in here?" One of Joshua's thick, brushy eyebrows perked severely, his commanding voice demanding its respect over the utility vehicle's hard purring. Yet that voice was smothered to a death as his large, black hands shoved that disgusting food into his large mouth, in all its greasy tastiness straight from that pair of large, golden arches.

"It..." he mumbled through the melting saturation, "-uh---kind of looks like a... -um---car accident, about to transpire!"

The speakers let out a little yelp, like a puppy dog, as Robin eased her mule onto the brake, the green lines on the readout fluctuating briefly, painfully. She pinched the key, and her wrist twisted into itself swiftly before the car could get another word in.

"What was that?" The dark giant asked.

"The... --radio!" she stuffed the key into pocket, flattened against her breast. "Talk radio, to be a bit more precise. You know how they shout."

"Of course." He nodded. "But where is your Peugeot?"

"Back at my apartment, with some company." She explained, and the door clunked as it popped ajar. "It was a miracle that they would even let me drive this here."

"So..." Joshua scuffed his meal by the teeth again, "where did you find this piece of junk anyway?"

"I met some people last night." She hopped off the thin bar beneath the door, heels making a -clop- on the smooth cement. "And their vehicle was running on its last wheels. I told them you were good with cars, Josh, so I convinced them to take it to you."

"I do not fix vehicles for free, Robin." The man of her color folded his thick arms, undulating with muscle, as soon as his mouth overcame the last of that fried poison.

"I know that, Joshua." The top of her head just reached a little beyond the tip of his sensitive plexus. "But please, they are in a tough spot--between Iraq and a hard place, as you would say--"

"I believe it is said, 'a -rock- and a hard place." The dark giant noted.

"However it may be said, I do not care." She frowned. "They have hit a hard patch with their luck, and I do not think they can pay your fees."

"Then how am I supposed to get paid, Robin?" he smirked. "Just by looking at this thing, it looks like it will take at least 600 shekels! And if they truly cannot pay for it, then I think I know someone who can..."

She sighed, and did with her arms as did Joshua. "By the word 'someone', I believe you mean me."

"Come on, Robin." His dark, thick lips pulled smoothly over his slick rows of enamel. "This man knows you have the money, if you truly wish to have this heap repaired. From someone residing in the David's Village complex, it should be a mere pocket change."

"My Shia may be generous with my allowance, Josh," she said, "but it can only buy so much. And my payment at the bar is not so charitable either. But I have an idea."

"This man cannot wait to hear this." He sighed.

"Bottles of Zanzibar's finest liqueur, priced at 200 shekels each." She said. "I know you have a fondness for it too."

"Do I...." He rubbed at his chin.

"This is what I propose:" she said. "A bottle of your liqueur for every 200 shekels on the final bill. You get what you want, and I get what I would want for my friends."

"Oh... sounds tempting." He grinned like that cat from the Louis Carol book. "And how do you suppose you'll sneak that stuff away from the boss?"

"I will think of something." She said. "Do we have a deal?"

"Of course." He shrugged. "If my little sister is such a zealot for her guests. Just do not get caught, okay?"

"Fair enough, big brother." Her fingers wormed into the pocket on her chest, entangling the key into a grip. The sun shinned off of it during its gentle arc through the calmed air. "Do not go crazy with it. I do need a way home, at the end of my day, after all."

"What about your guests?" he asked.

"They're from out of town..." she said naturally, "out of country, to be precise."

"From where...?" the giant kinked his brow again.

"America." She shrugged.

"Hmm..." he shook his head benignly. "Does your Shia know?"

"He is on duty, probably for all week." She sighed dejectedly. "The Major's orders."

"Ah yes..." his sigh felt like a brief gust of the desert breeze, hot and brief, "our dear Major. What would we ever do without him? Probably, we will all be a little better off without him, if you ask me."

"I am beginning to think the support is weakening." The flat ball of her mule grinded gently into the pavement, the sound of scratches clawing their way out from under her foot. "It was great that we had someone who wasn't bound by the world's dangerous conventions, who did whatever he wanted and thumbed his nose at everyone who differed. But now, after yesterday... I think that the public finally saw him for what he is."

"A monster...."

"Yes," she nodded solemnly, "I have tried to tell Shia that for months, ever since I saw his employer's eyes stare back at me. Hazel orbs, so beautiful like the sparkling sea yet there is just emptiness in the deep. He looked... dead."

"And I have told you, Sister, as I have confronted Shia:" She looked up, her heart torn against herself as she caught Joshua's disparaging gaze. "If he loves you so much, then he must leave that militia for good!"

"I know..." She nodded--

--And she felt a great and powerful force surge throughout her body, from the tip of her head where the bands held her frizzy tail tight to her angled soles. Her lips moved, but as the words flowed from within, she wasn't sure if it came from her or from someone else.

"If my Shia does not listen to us," her chest tingled with strange excitement, "then I feel that the good Lord will provide him someone that he will listen to...."

Her brother shared in her pregnant silence, thick in the humid air outside Zanzibar.

"Yes..." he nodded, "perhaps you are right. But for your sake, I hope that he will snap out of it before his 'job' kills him."

"Me too." She dismissed. "But I have to go inside now--'on the clock'--as my Shia might say."

"Then I shall not keep you any longer, Sister." He nodded. "Who knows; maybe I will be in for drinks later."

"Of course." she said. "You are the bartender, after all. But will you be okay? That sport utility vehicle feels rather rickety. The brakes are a little weak too."

"Do not worry, Robin." He smirked. "There has not been a motor vehicle that I could not handle. If the damage is not -too- extensive, I should have it up and running by tonight."

"That will be fine." She smiled weakly. "If all goes well, I should have your liqueur by then. Just bring me the bill."

"Do not worry; I will." His smirk pulled wider, so much so that his thick lips parted over his slick enamel.

"I thought as much." She sighed. "Do not drink and drive, now. And do not drink it all in one sitting."

"-Uh---Yes, Mother...." He chuckled. "And I thought that I was the elder. Surprise, surprise...."

"Oh--shut up, you big camel!"

---

"Damocles, 96." That stick of a sycophant muttered loudly. At least... that's what she thought the flesh of her ears caught. She couldn't tell, not with that infernal ringing in her ears.

Going through a rough patch would be the understatement of the moment, soon to be annulled by another sadistic action that freak on the treads took. That terrifying claw, 'groping' at her feet... her legs... and her thighs was enough to throw her into eternal darkness. Yet that bright lamp burning above wouldn't let her.

The ringing in her ears was deafening, so loud that the possibility of actual deafness clicked. Yet that pair of boots scuffed around her, the gentle whirr of treads droned through the putrid air that followed. If she had known her diagnosis was premature conjecture, when that tape of butt-rock clicked on, she had wished her drums did rupture.

A large dome had lowered over her form, huge vibrations resonating as the brim had touched the floor. The butt-rock that had played outside; she had recognized it somehow, how the guitars' strings vibrated at their players' discretion, loud, swift, and brief twice before they came into a melody. She wasn't sure why her mind had wondered over that archaic tool of blacksmiths--

--Yet those painful, patterned resonations from that dome brought it home.

"-Uh-..." she winced at that bright halogen before her, "what...?"

"Damocles, 96." The stick continued. "Surely you have heard this story sometime before, right? Probably in a western civilization class, at least."

"Sophomore...." She squinted. Beside that bright lamp, she could just make out two squared rods towering over her, one rod flanking one of her sides. The faces of the rods that stared at her, and each other, had a single slit grinded into it, running the length of the rods for as much as she could make out.

"Don't take West Civil till I'm a junior...."

"Well," the stick said passively, "judging by our current situation, time is not on your side. So I'll give you a short brief."

"Can't wait to hear this...!" she moaned.

"This tale comes to us from the fourth century," the stick began, "before the common era. There lived a ruler named Dionysius, a tyrant as some would say, from a place called Syracuse. To all appearances he was very rich and comfortable, with all the luxuries money could buy, tasteful clothing and jewelry, and delectable food. He even had court flatterers to inflate his ego. One of these was the court sycophant Damocles. Damocles used to make comments to the king about his wealth and luxurious life. One day when Damocles complimented the tyrant on his abundance and power, Dionysius turned to Damocles and said, 'If you think I'm so lucky, how would you like to try out my life?'

"Damocles readily agreed, and so Dionysius ordered everything to be prepared for Damocles to experience what life as Dionysius was like. Damocles was enjoying himself immensely until he noticed a sharp sword hovering over his head, which was suspended from the ceiling by a single hair of a horse. This, the tyrant explained to Damocles, was what life as ruler was really like.

"I believe if you told a lie, the sword would drop, but I'm not sure about that. Yet even if it was just a figment of my own imagination, I like the idea all the same.

"Either way, Damocles was alarmed and quickly revised his idea of what made up a good life. He asked to be excused, and then eagerly returned to his poorer, but safer life."

"Well!" she blinked, her heart quickening as she eyed those rods warily. "Now I know what's going to be on a test this fall...."

"Maybe." He said. "And yet how true this tale can be, especially for you, 96."

She let her lids part all the way to their maximum. "Oh boy...!"

"From your globetrotting and expeditions, 96, haven't you discovered that when you burden yourself with the world, all your contributions will culminate in a red smear when the globe finally crushes you?" he asked. "Just face the facts, 96: Atlas, you sure as hell are not."

"Then your boss and I have something in common..."

"I've about had it with your sass, 96." He sighed. "Be grateful that Tank Man can't understand English, or he would have cut you by now. Not that you could escape what cruel fate has in store anyway."

"I'm shaking in my panties!" she exclaimed. "After today, I think I'll faint...!"

"If you survive, then be my guest." The stick said coolly. "And if you don't, I feel that I must say that it has been such a displeasure to speak with you."

His boots scrapped the cement below, to the right and approaching her side quickly yet collectedly. That stemming silhouette loomed over her, its olive back lit brightly, draping the shade from its front onto her belly. The stick took up one of its branches, and with its very tip, touched it upon her flesh. A cold tingle ran up her back. Her skin crawled out from under it as it was dragged up and down the length of her abs.

"I must say also that you are a true beauty, 96." He remarked impassively. "Your skin, so soft, so warm, nothing short of God's perfection. Your curves formed in perfect symmetry. It would be such a tragedy to ruin it, fait accompli, but it's a part of the Major's will...."

"Spare me the un-pleasantries...." She cringed.

"I wish I couldn't," the stick shrugged its bony shoulders, "but I'm afraid that work must intrude, and that it begs our attention."

The top of the silhouette turned craned its neck over a shoulder.

"Galil!" she clenched her teeth at the word.

That droning whirr came from the left, approaching her quickly, excitedly. She coughed, hacking and wheezing like a dying piece of vulture meat. Her lungs felt as though they were clawing their way out, through the trachea as that stench polluted her nostrils.

"I apologize for the stench, 96." The stick replied. "Galil can't process his wastes properly anymore. Then again, one man's shit can be one man's fuel supply."

"Oh--gross!" she gagged.

Another drone came out from the left, flat and strong, that nearly overtook the softer one completely. That bulky freak slowly rose beside her impossibly high, where a fated few could reach with ease. Its menacing talon was unusually still, purposefully still like the hand of gnarled flesh as it continued to rise. Clenched tightly within its blocky grip was a sword, thin and broad, the light running the length of the thin belly sharply.

"It's about to get a little grosser, 96." The stick mentioned. "I'd offer you anesthesia or even Novocain, but OOPS--! We're fresh out. Unless you want to know how Damocles would have felt, I suggest you answer some more questions right now."

"Wouldn't it---uh-..." she snorted, "be cheaper to get---ah---guillotine?"

"Too awkward." He said, her wannabe executioner threading accessory cord though a little ring on the back of the sword, welded halfway on the steel. "And much too quick for dear Galil's tastes."

"Tastes...?" she snuffed. "It has tastes? By that jaw, I never would have guessed."

"Unjustifiable bearings, crass jibes;" he sighed, "defense mechanisms concealing such inadequacy for your line of work. It's impressive how you made it this far, 96. A shame you won't see this mission through."

"What would you ever do without me...?" she sneered.

"We'll figure something out." The stick curled his little twig back into the branch, letting the limb hang weakly beside his thin trunk. The slick brush at the very most top angled back, his wooden face basking in the harsh light. His dark eyes like knots, the soul radiating behind them as dull as the light glinting off.

From her left came another loud unwavering drone, the towering freak shrunk while its putrid musk burned her nose. Its jaw an incandescent shine, the light smoothing over its surface, twinkling in drops of trailing water, the ones that didn't froth with bubbles. The upper lip curled into itself with ease over its enamel, glossy, "clean" barely from the blood of victims past, craving greedily for its next meal. She hacked as it let out its long, drawn out breath in her face.

"Probably move on, and interrogate some other trash we've got locked up." Stick man continued. "Maybe Galil will enjoy another great meal. But for about ten minutes, we'll be completely inconsolable. And it looks like the show's about to begin, I see."

Tank Man made another snort, grunting it out.

"Easy there, Mr. Drazen." The stick said coolly, flashing his palms. "You'll get your fill soon enough. Where was I?"

"You were about to let me off, clean and clear...."

"Oh yes!" He uncurled one of his twigs in realization, the branch folding in, bringing it to flank by his ear. "Now I remember. This is how it works, 96: the blade above you is fastened to the wall in three places. I'll be at my computer, verifying anything you say. Tank Man will cut a section of rope per falsehood, until either the blade drops or you drop the act. Got it?"

"Yeah...." She frowned.

"Good "he graced her with his olive back. His loud shuffling quieted gradually as that back sank out of sight. "Let's begin."

"Do you worst!" she spat, tiny spheres of her water shimmering in the halogen before they smacked down, flattening on her belly.

"Don't worry," the stick quipped smugly, "we will...."

---

Ron was beginning to unnerve her; he wasn't usually so solemn, full of grimace, and quiet though he was. He always had something to say, something to quip so brazenly, actively, even when the chips were down. He just laid there, his fingers laced where his plexus should be, Rufus curled into a little pink, pulsing blob in front of his pinkies.

That piece of chunky, shining steel an arm-reach away from him, mooning him with its thick chunk of blackened plastic on the coffee table...

She moved a foot in front of her, but she felt that firm grip clasp onto her shoulder as her sole pressed into the carpet.

"Don't..." her man said.

"But Yune--"

"Let him rest, T."

"But that gun, Yune." She said gently. "Do you trust him with it? What if he...?"

"If he fails Kimberly," he replied softly, "it won't be of his own doing."

"Then what do you suggest we do?" she curled her hands into fists, turning on a heel. "We can't just sit here, and pray he doesn't off himself. Come on now, Yune. There has to be something he can make himself useful with."

"Like what exactly, T?" his olive, ovoid head angled.

"I don't know!" her fists clenched, knuckles popping gently underneath the thin skin. "You're a boy! You tell me what boys do!"

"I wouldn't know." He shrugged. "But I did get off the phone with Hershel. She'll be here in less than an hour, and given what she has to say, maybe we'll figure out a next move. Till then, we're playing the waiting game."

"But--!"

"Just let him rest, Tara." He said.

"Let who rest...?" Ronald yawned. She whipped her head to the complementary side, the muscles in her neck wringing tightly. Ronald was sitting up, his arms outstretched and his chest thrust ahead. He rolled his neck slowly while his limbs flopped to his lap. The pink rodent barely managed to roll onto the cushion in time's nick.

"HEY!" Rufus' squeal was like that of a light grunt.

"Sorry, buddy." The blond sighed.

"Oh--!" She flustered. "We were just talking--"

"About you, Ronald." Her man finished her sentence without solicitation.

"Yune!" she snapped quietly.

"Calm down, T."

"About me?" Ron's back went straight, unrolling quickly from the hunch. He planted both his feet simultaneously on the carpet after spinning a quarter turn on his butt. That messy, blond mat puffed in brief as he shoot her a quizzical look.

"Yes, Ron." Yune nodded. "After last night, we're a little concerned about your well being."

"Understandable..." Ron's tongue peeked between his dry lips, coating them with natural moisture that shinned in the light. "That's what friends are for, though I push them away sometimes."

"It happens to all of us in due time." Yune said. "Arrogant to think it won't."

"Yeah..." Ron shrugged. "And I'm not going to kill myself, so don't worry. The Ron Factor may be down, but it sure as hell's not out!"

"Great to hear it." She sighed. "I don't want a repeat of Escutcheon's Aftermath."

"I grew up, Tara." He pushed himself to his feet. "It's not okay when life throws you a sucker punch, but if it keeps you down, it's just sick and wrong! Plain and simple!"

"There's the Ron we know and love!" she smiled. "Good to have you back!"

"I just needed some time to think, get in touch with roots and all." He replied. "Nothing more."

"I hope you're done fondling your roots, Ron." Her man remarked. "We've got some serious work to do later today."

"I know." He nodded. "So what's been happening while I was out?"

"I got off the phone with Hershel, like I told Tara." Yune replied. "She'll be here before the hour, and then we'll figure out something to do. I hope you know some good TV stations, Ron, because we're practically stuck here."

"Your guess is as good as mine." Ron shrugged.

"Well, I'm not going to sit here and wait for oblivion!" She threw her hands in the air. "There's got to be something around here."

"I could help you with your Hapkido." Yune offered kindly. "This apartment's plenty big."

"That's okay, Yune." She smiled back. "I wouldn't want to break anything here. Most of this stuff looks pricey."

"All Shia's doing, I bet." Her man thrust his good hand into a hip pocket on his jeans. "Drazen pays him pretty well."

"And Shia's pretty generous to his girl..." She sighed, her lips sinking into a gentle frown.

Ron shot her a look, his dark eyebrow in a kink, as did her man.

"Hmm?" the Asian hummed.

"Robin, Yune." She brought her fists up to her chest, pressing them into her breastbone gently. "It's about Robin."

"What about her?" Ronald asked.

"She loves Shia with all her heart." She closed her eyes. "I saw it in her last night. And she's afraid."

"T...?" Her man said dumbstruck, at a loss for words.

"She's afraid that she'll lose him forever." She continued. "That when it comes down to it, you'll kill him."

"Tara--" He couldn't finish his sentence.

"I want you to promise me something, Yune." She wouldn't let him, not now. "I want you to promise me that you won't kill him, no matter what happens."

"But--!"

"In little of what she did, she did a lot for us, Yune." She said. "She took us into her home, she fed us, she took Sadie in to be repaired, and even gave me a new pair of pumps."

"But T--!"

"Please, Yune." She opened her eyes. The lids glistened in the light by the brimming water. "Promise me you won't kill him."

"Tara..." the shaking of his head swept a pit in her belly, "I'm sorry...."

"But Yune--!"

"No Tara." She couldn't finish her spoken thought. "I know how you feel; I understand it completely. But I can't promise you that. You and she haven't seen Bonnet's darker side. Believe me, he'll kill you at a bat of his eye, like he did my team back in Paris."

"But--!"

"I'm sorry, Tara." He would have folded his arms, if one weren't in the sling. "I can't do that. I'm not going to risk your life or Robin's for him."

"Well--fine then!" she stomped her foot in angry protest. "Be that way! If Shia does die, then you can tell his woman why!"

"I have a sneaky suspicion she will." He said. "Did you ever read Torah, T?"

"I read the Bible." She huffed. "Cover to cover!"

"Then I'll take that as a yes..." he sighed. "By chance, did you happen to read the book of Numbers?"

"Probably, yeah...."

"Are you familiar with the 35th chapter of Numbers, concerning murderers?"

"Uh..." her eyes wondered up, beneath her brow and to the right, "no...."

"Whoever smites a man, whether it be with iron, stone, or wood, so that he may die, he is a murderer and he must be put to death." He said. "That's what's written in chapter 35, verses 16 through 18."

"Oh...."

"If you ask Robin about it," he remarked neutrally, "I'm sure she'll tell you the same as I."

"So what then?" she disputed. "Does that mean you're going to go out and do him in, for the lives of your team?"

"Though I may not have liked my team at the start," he said grimly, "but they were still my team. Shia must pay, even if it's not for my former group, then for those poor people he killed--no---murdered- back in Paris. And if we don't stop him, who will?"

"Yune...."

"But I'm not going to mismanage what little resources we have for it either." Yune nodded quickly. "I'm not going out of my way, Tara. I can promise you that. But if he's on the hunt, I'm not taking prisoners. He's an assassin, a good one. It was a miracle I could get my pistol out of the holster when that piano wire caught my neck."

"It'll work, Yune," she smiled weakly, "for me anyway. Just be careful."

"I will." He smiled warmly.

"That goes for you too, Ronald." She turned for the blond. The right hand flattened, and the boy brought the straight fingers up just beneath the pointy bangs of his hair. The elbow was in a jaunt.

"You can count on me, ma'am." He grinned. "The Ron Factor's here to save the day, not bring miser-ay."

"Uh... yeah...!" she rolled her eyes, wiping lose strands of her hair off her crown. "-Shmuck-!"

"HEY!" Ron's eyes nearly popped from their sockets, his hand at rest at his hip with a slap. "I heard that!"

"YEAH...!" That pink buddy of his squealed, crossing his forelegs like the arms of a human.

"Touchy today, aren't we?" she smirked.

---

"Well," the stick man quipped in a sort of jubilation, hushed and suppressed within his chest, "two lies down, one to go. You sure are brazen, 96. Did you honestly think this, in its entirety, was a mere bluff?"

"Yeah...." she breathed. The rope, securing the blade by the loop, seemed to have stretched by a foot at least, stretching out at her on its last limb as it were. Boldly she spoke two lies, calling him on his threat, challenging him to keep his word. Yet to her surprise, he did not disappoint. Rope cracked like a whip twice; the blade dropped in its track severely.

Realization dawned on her like daylight at the crack of dawn. For to them, she really was worthless after all.

"I kind of did." She eyed that glinting piece of impending death warily. "Can't blame a girl for trying."

"Actually, we can." The stick said smugly. "Feel better about yourself, now that you've seen where lying will get you? Are you ready to spill your guts, 96? Or does Galil have to? Believe me, 96, you do not want to know why G went to the insane asylum for."

"Oh boy...!" she said. She clenched her fingers as tight as the binding rope would allow. The pain burning in her shoulder didn't help, nor did the wet pain in her side, yet shifting her ankles within the knots seemed to cool the flare just a little--

--And the rope slithered too gently around them, too loosely, and her body dragged just a bit by the taut rope binding her hands. The angle of the blade didn't change, yet it did, seemingly swooping away and up into the ceiling barely. The cord at her feet held fast, digging its scratchy braids into the meat of her heels.

-A flick should slip it off... -

"Then again, maybe you do." The stick continued joylessly. "Then again, maybe you don't. What floats your boat is fine by me, 96, just before I sink it like the Titanic. Before it breaks in half like you. Shall we continue?"

"No--!"

"So glad you think as much." The stick chuckled over the keys' clacking, a soft and flat clatter where the very pounding of the keys overwhelmed it. "Now, 96, I'm sure you've heard this question plenty a time, when you've inexorably been captured over the course of your career."

"Just spit it out already!" she flexed her ankles gently, gradually, letting the cord brim at the soles of her heels.

"Don't you gripe at me!" the stick retorted gruffly. "I'll slap the shit out of you."

"Maybe you should have caught me yesterday morning, Stick Man!" she smirked. "Back when there was some shit to slap!"

"Oh--I ought-a--!"

The freak let out a loud grunt, wet and hoarse.

"Right...!" the stick breathed over the clacking of his keyboard. "Of course, Mr. Drazen. Vengeance is yours, saith the good Major. How quickly I forgot."

The freak let out a sigh, or what she thought was a sigh, by that blaring deflation.

"Where was I again?" the stick asked rhetorically.

"You were about to send me home." She couldn't blame herself for trying, though her captors sure as hell would hold her to it like a scalding branding iron.

"You try that a lot, don't you?" the stick quipped snootily.

"Touché..." she smirked.

"You have one last chance to come clean, 96." His remark fought her ears from his plodding steps. His silhouette loomed taller over her the louder his boots grinded the slick cement, the shiny blade's belly seemingly sinking into the slicked hair atop the darkened head. "Do you truly wish to throw it away like scrap?"

"Like I told you twice before," her toes wiggled in anticipation, "I'm on my own. No one's commissioned me, and I'm alone."

"I'll take that as a yes, then." The stick shadow sighed, folding in his branches behind his trunk. "As you wish then, 96. I'll be sure to let the Major know of your passing."

"You first..."

"In your dreams, 96." he quipped gruffly.

One of his branches unfolded from behind the trunk, folding back into itself at the crook. A switch at the extremity uncurled, pointed and straight, parallel with his chin. Her tongue peeked from out her lips, coating them with fresh slickness as her toes flexed to the extreme.

"GALIL!" he barked.

Quickly, the stick drew the switch across his throat. The freak let out an eager screech. Her eyes barely caught the glint of the arcing machete in the halogen's harsh light, before it dropped down swiftly. The giant sword rattled in the slats, and then it sank--

---Shit--! - --

--Just a little.

"You're hanging on by a thread, 96, "the stick said smugly, standing already in a victory impending, "literally. Say goodbye."

Every sort of emotion, every thought seemed to settle with each other, as if the blade dangling above did not actually exist. It felt so surreal, like a dream that could have been easily dissolved into oblivion with a wiggle of her nose, a bat of her eyes, or even a twitch of her toes...

She took in a deep breath, letting the air swell within in her lungs, and she gazed that twig straight into those dark knots on his face.

"Goodbye...!" she said softly and firmly...


	24. Chapter 24

24

"Are you serious!?" Her man demanded strongly, his good hand clenched into a fist while his sling trembled the faintest of hot incredulity. "Are you fucking with us, Hershel!? ARE YOU!? Oh--you'd better be fucking with us!"

Hershel had already arrived. Tara could easily tell by the heated altercation, a lopsided shouting match on who could lift their voice the highest. It was landslide for her man. The tanned Barbie didn't bother to compete. It was ironic, to say the least.

"No..." that accent had forced itself off the walls; it was so faint. Her bowed face hidden by the blonde tresses, her arms loose behind her back, and hands in a weak grip like a child scolded. "I'm not yanking your chain, Mr. Bin-Mok. Everything I told you is true. I figured it would be better if it came from me first, before you found it out yourself."

Interesting how the dyad worked, it was. Regardless of what the team had done, whether good or bad, she came around seemingly with nothing but bad news, more or less. Truth really does hurt, it sure did. But whom it unnerved exactly always came into question.

It wasn't going to be her, which was for sure. She kneeled on the floor in Robin's room, where her man shooed her away the second Hershel's legs carried her inside the apartment. The carpet was burning her knees though she didn't move. She dared not move. A sudden shift, a twist at the waist could send her toppling, stretching that little sliver between the door and its frame too wide.

"What difference does it make, Hershel?" Yune asked. "Regardless who it came from, it doesn't change the fact it happened and your guys did nothing. In fact, you helped it!"

"We didn't foresee this, obviously!" The Barbie propped her head back up on her neck. "We thought it would help us, insure our survival for a few more years--a decade at most. By fighting fire with fire, it should have curved terrorism to nonexistence!"

"This is war!" Yune exclaimed. "Not an oil fire! With his tenacity, you'll be lucky the whole east hemisphere doesn't come down on all you!"

"Then what the hell are we supposed to do?" the Barbie folded her arms hastily. "No one listens to us! They condemn us for every initiative we take, malignant and benign. We were lucky to get out of this whole fence situation unscathed. And if they're not going to listen to what we have to say, then by God--we're going to give them someone they are going to listen to!"

"Even if it means the lives of innocent people!?" Yune demanded. "Tell me!"

"A couple lives lost maybe acceptable by IDF standards," she growled, "but make no mistake, Bin-Mok..."

"What?"

"There are no levels of bloodshed we cannot cope with." She sneered. "Not just for me, but for this country's way of life. We will sacrifice anyone to protect this country, even if it means hiring a bloodthirsty banshee like--!"

"Of course," Yune said lightly, ironically, "till this banshee went AWOL, kept everything you've ever given to himself and his gang of thugs!"

"I know...!" she frowned. "I should have--"

"You should have trusted him as much as the PLO!" Yune said strongly. "-That's- what you should have done!"

"Yeah...."

"Tara...?" Ron called quieted--and a dark body slipped into her view, right in front of that crack--

She yipped, the solid door banging into her knees. Her center of gravity jolted, her waist thrown into a crook at the right, and the ceiling swept down before her. It rattled as she felt the carpet scrape at her backside.

"Ah---oomph-!"

"Tara?" Ron loomed over her, tall just like her man as he bent at the knees. He looked down upon her with a kink in one of his dark brows. "What are you doing on the floor?"

"Oh--Ron!" she rolled onto her belly, pushing her self off the scratchy carpet. One of her knees scraped the carpet back, her weight forced through her leg as she swept her other leg past it. Her foot flexed under duress from her pump, but she managed to push herself to her angled feet, wobbling a bit.

"What?" he blinked.

"You--Ron!" she huffed, resorting to the backs of her hands for the sake of her black skirt. "I got lint all over my skirt!"

"Hey--I'm not the one who told you to sit on the floor!" Ron flashed her his palms. "I actually use furniture, like a chair--or even that bed! And it's a heck of a lot more comfortable than this Stain-Master carpet!"

"Yeah!" his furless-ball seconded.

"Point taken." She dismissed. "Now, you wanted to say something?"

"Yes I do, actually." He nodded.

"And?"

Ron's expression was typical; a perplexing bewilderment as though it had came falling out of the wild, blue yonder. He shrugged at her, brown eyes darting aimlessly.

"And what?" he threw it back.

"What did you want to tell me?" His shins ached for a swift, snap kick, square on the bone.

He shrugged again. "Well--I don't know!"

"That's it!?" she frowned.

"Yeah...!" he threw his hands in the air, flustered. "I forgot!"

"Ron!" she sighed. "Next time, think it through! Now, I'd like to know what's going on out there!"

"Oh those two?" he said. "They're just talking over something really loudly!"

"I suspected as much." She crossed her arms. "Do you know what though?"

"Nope." He shrugged. "I just walked in a minute ago. Apparently, someone has annoyed someone else. That much, I know. Other than that...."

"Great...."

"Tara." Yune called. "You can come out now. The shouting match is over. It's safe."

"I should hope so!" she let her arms drop to her sides. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Ron."

She brushed past Ron, through that space between his trunk and the doorframe, and out the room. Yune and the agent stood before her in the large, spacious room, their arms folded tightly, angled away from each other, off in their own trains of thought on the bumpy rails of their minds. Her man stood firm, his resolve set in stone as much as his tight face. Hershel wobbled on the carpet, her legs quivering more than what the heels on her feet did to them.

"Yune." She nodded. "Ms. Hershel.... So what going on? Did you guys figure something out? Do we have a next move?"

"No, T." Yune shook his head. "We don't. Besides, this... and everything we've been though, it's nothing you should have been concerned about. I'm sorry, Tara."

"Sorry for what, Yune?" the soft cushion of Robin's couch was a welcome sensation to her buns.

"For dragging you into this." He said. "If I didn't break my arm, if I didn't speed that day--!"

"Then you would have been mowed down by that 'copter, because I didn't drive." She finished. "Don't relieve the past, Yune. It's said and done. Sadie's on her last wheels, Kim's been captured, and we're up the creek without a paddle. Life sucks! But is that going to make us quit, or do we keep paddling?"

"Keep paddling, of course!" Ron answer came without solicitation.

"Yep-yep!" Rufus squeaked.

"That's what I like to hear." Hershel said weakly. "Before our little shouting match, I came to bear some gifts. I hope you're grateful for these, because it took some doing to get these from our cache. And with the US Ambassador breathing down my neck, it took an act of the Knesset for me to get here."

"New stuff?" Ron said jovially. "Groovy!"

"He--huh!" His buddy snorted. "Wait!"

"I don't know where you got that mole rat, or how you got it to talk, Ron." Hershel's cocky strength flowed generously once again, that strong timbre stilled the quivering of her legs instantly. Her arms dropped to their sides, and her firmed legs carried her to a couple of suitcases by the grand window. "Irrelevant as it is, but I do suggest you take its advice."

"Rufus is not a pet, or an -it- for that matter!" Ron rebuffed. "-He's- family!"

Rufus crowned his "dad's" rebuttal with a wet raspberry, the droplets of saliva shinning in the natural light.

"As you wish, Mr. Stoppable." The blonde dismissed. The dark pumps went pidgin-toed slightly as Hershel bent at the waist, scooping the handle of the smaller case into her palm. The case swooped to her side smoothly as her back unrolled. "And given how this little team's running low on morale and supplies, I figured you could use a shot in the arm."

"Or a kick in the ass." Yune shrugged.

"That too." Hershel carried the case over to the couch, the fabric enveloping its bottom the second the woman laid it flat on the cushion. The latches snapped flatly, the hinges creaking as tanned fingers hoisted the lid away from the latches, about 90-or-so degrees.

She blinked. The grand ceiling trained upon by the large, brass stalagmites fixed in the case, unmoved by their copper tips glinting at it pointedly. Behind them, stuck in the same foamy ground were boxes, quite a few boxes, each no bigger than a stack of several Hershey chocolate bars. Close to a hinge, right above the boxes in a hollowed, fashioned pit, sat a pistol. It looked like a strange mix between the handguns she saw back in Prague, and that huge cannon of a pistol Mr. Barkin used on Escutcheon.

"More ammo?" Ron said welcomingly, nodding approvingly as he strolled toward the other case. "And an extra gun? Boo-yah!"

"More GLASER rounds for that revolver, Ron." Hershel continued. "And Yune, I got some 9x19 rounds for your Daewoo. Since you probably need it, I packed you this pistol. Tuvia would have went with this new '-Barak-' design from IMI, but it's too new to tell really. Beneath the ammo boxes, you should find some extra magazines and speed loaders, if Tuvia ever got around to packing them."

Tanned fingers uncurled straightly, and they stabbed into the case, prying that odd little pistol out from its pit. The thumb pressed onto the grip, and she pulled the gun from the pit with ease. Tara's heart upped the pace, quickening as the woman looked at her, flipping the short slide into the palm by a twirl of the index.

"Ms. Stark." The words rang in her ears, and she swallowed. "I trust you know how to use one of these?"

"Yes." She nodded. "Yune's been teaching me."

"This is what you Americans would call a 'Baby Eagle', or even an 'Uzi Eagle'," Hershel continued, "but in Israel, we call it a Jericho. This is a Jericho 941, and this particular pistol uses .40-caliber Smith-and-Wesson ammunition. It can hold 12 rounds in the magazine, and one in the chamber. And it reloads just like any other semi-automatic pistol."

"Don't you think this .40-caliber's a little big for me?" She asked timidly. "I like the 9-milimeter myself, like Yune's gun."

"In my field experience, Ms. Stark," Hershel smirked, and she pulled a flap of business jacket away from her body, flashing the holster while the pistol mooned her, "those caliber guns may hold more, but I found the 9x19 is a really underpowered cartridge. In fact, my Beretta takes .40-caliber rounds."

"Then why do you carry one, Yune?" she asked.

"Higher capacity for the most part." He shrugged. "And I can handle myself fine when I finally run dry."

"But what about me?"

"You're too green, from what I can pick up." Hershel comment fell upon her like condescension, though she could only guess what the tanned Barbie had in mind. "Yune's belt may be black in the second-degree, but he's been tutoring you for only a few weeks now. A man like Bonnet can take you out easily, and his superior almost did -Yom Shishi-."

"Yom--what??" she quipped suspiciously, defensively.

"Friday, Tara." Ron said. "-Yom Shishi- is like Friday in Hebrew."

"Oh." She blinked. "Right."

"Guys like Bin-Mok, Stoppable, and myself can handle ourselves in CQB." The woman folded her arms. "But you're still new to it, and lack combat experience. So you'll need more stopping power than close confrontation."

"You... never seen Ron in action much," Yune's remark came out like a question, simply by that tag line, "have you?"

"HEY!" The blond and the baldy exclaimed predictably. She sniggered under her breath.

"What?" The Korean kinked his brow.

"Anyway!" the woman dismissed loudly, turning away from the couch. "I have one more gift for you guys. Do be careful with this one, please? These things are hard to get, and we don't need another one lost in the field. I haven't even told my superiors you lost the other one, and I don't want to know what they'll do."

"How do you mean, Ms. Hershel?" She asked.

The woman was at the lengthier case, her pumps pigeon-toed already as she bent at the waist, scooping that thick handle into her grip. An end of the case nearly nicked the coffee table as it swooped to her side, but the solid feet clacked on the glass top lightly at her whim.

"Let's just say that shitting bricks would be a real understatement." Hershel said over the clatter of the latches. "And the fact I got another one out of storage would pass through them like a 40-pound watermelon in the colon."

"Ouch..."

"Indeed." The woman nodded, and the case parted slowly by careful hands. Motes of dust and whatnot circled through the air, yet caught perfectly in the thick ray of the natural light. The case's half came to rest on the glass, pressing against the smoothed pane concurrently. "And that watermelon's coming out of my ass!"

Lodged in a pit of egg-carton foam, fashioned in shape not unlike its own, sat a rifle... a -big- rifle, like the one Kim huffed around that fateful Saturday. From molten steel, stamped in that same shape, lock, stock, barrel, and even that blocky thing at the muzzle. Its large magazine sat in a carved bed of foam, just below the thick barrel.

"Another Barret?" Yune asked.

"You bet!" Hershel uncurled from her hunch. "M82A3. Caught the Channel 2 news, saw how Kim took out that Apache, and thought you could use it again somehow--or somewhere, preferably. Just don't lose it. This in the wrong hands could cause us some serious problems down the road."

"Don't worry, Hershel." Ron said proudly. "The Ron Factor won't let you down! You have our word."

"Good." Hershel nodded. "If you do, this 'Ron Factor' will be a real -non-factor-!"

"Goody!" Tara quipped cheekily. "We're re-supplied! Woo-woo--yippee for us! But we need a plan. A good plan!"

"What kind of plan, Tara?" Yune challenged benignly. "Any thoughts? Anything you're kind enough to share?"

"Well...!"

"Well what?" Her man pushed. "Do you or do you not? It's not that hard a question, T."

"Well--no...!" She shook her head. "Not at all. But if Kimberly was here, she'd cook up a plan!"

"Sorry, Ms. Stark." Hershel shrugged. "But Ms. Possible isn't here."

"But--!"

"Sorry, T." Yune went along. "But Hershel's right. Kim will have to find a way to signal us, if Drazen hasn't killed her yet. Other than that, there's nothing we can do... except pray maybe."

"Talk about hurry-up-and-wait...." Ron note came deflated, crestfallen as it was in a shallow sigh.

"Indeed...."

"Well," Hershel perked her brows, "that raps up what I've came to do. If you people need anything at all, call me. I might as well apologize now for any busy signals you might receive. The United States and their whinny ambassadors are really losing their patience. Come November, I'll be very surprised if the support for Israel continues."

"What the hell do they want?" Ron asked. "Our government, I mean."

"Started with a murder of some tight-e-whitey's friend." Hershel replied. "But now I'm beginning to think that they want more than just a culprit. Maybe they want more. Maybe they took a hint from our neighbors, and they just want everything."

"Who can really say for sure?" Yune said. "It's a big schizophrenia every four years, either looking forward to the next war, looking for ways around it, or reeling back at its sight."

"Yeah." The blonde noted, her feet turning for the door, toes pointing the way as her body twisted around. "Whatever's going on overseas, we'll find out soon enough. Either way, I got to get back to the office. Take care you guys."

"Later, Hershel!" said Ron.

"I do have a first name, you know." The blonde said.

"Really?" Ron blinked. "What?"

The clacking of the blonde's heels followed her as she walked out of the door in disgust. Tara couldn't hold her sniggers in any longer.

"What??" Ron big eyes beamed a hint of fluster, darting around in those shallow pits on his face. "What'd I say?"

---

"Well--!" Kimberly twisted her face in a tight cringe, the pain swelling in her shoulder. It felt like someone planted a small tangerine straight between the bones that made up the shoulder while the very bones burned with protest. "-OH-...!"

She clasped her shoulder firmly, her teeth clenched tightly, and her knees felt wet, raw as the cement scraped them after they buckled.

"That was easy...!" she groaned. "Kind of!"

Her escape had gone as smooth as Swiss clockwork. The tension of the rope at her wrists was enough to yank her away, out from under that falling blade, when her feet slipped free. The sword had clanged harshly in the hollow room, its thin belly sinking halfway into the cement. The dark knots on the stick man had nearly popped out of his wooden face in bewilderment. That stench of an avatar had growled angrily at the blade's unsoiled clang, its roar consumed quickly by the droning of its tracks.

She had folded her legs, rearing her knees to her chest as she was supine, and she sprung to her feet. Her legs had leaped her toward one of the blade's towering rails, her hands clutching at it at the last possible moment as she flew by, and she had let her momentum carry her around. Her delight at the freak's utter surprise had been fleeting, completely gone when she had felt her locked legs recoil back into her hips, when her heels smashed into that strange, thick flesh.

Tank Man nearly fell off its little tank, but the thick, soiled tubes held fast to its decaying form at the waist. That giant, menacing talon had done the work for her, lifting the tracks off the cement by sheer impetus, hoisting the freak into the little folding table behind it. The head had snapped at her with a -crack- as its bulbous back met the table's edge, swallowed by the resounding -CLANG- of metal on the hard cement. Tank Man had let out a little groan, quieting to a soft buzzing sigh...

The stick man wasn't much of a threat. She had swerved away barely from a punch, just as she had turned around. A quick x-block had sent his next arcing up and out of the way. A thick grunt, and the bulging of his dark knots rewarded her snap kick to the groin. And a sturdy thrust kick to the reeling belly sent the stick tumbling backwards, at the foot of the wall.

Then... the adrenaline seeped out of her like her crimson from out that large, wet semi-circle at her side. The pain clawed its way back into her shoulder, burning in the joint. But she paid it only the clenching of her teeth as she hobbled to the stick.

Slick with that gel, her fingers clenched through that slicked back mat of hair, and she lifted his head with a swift yank. The stick's knots rolled in a boggle, but it was nothing that a swift slap to that bony cheek couldn't stop.

"-Ugh...! -" The stick groaned. "Shit...!"

"You're going to feel like shit in a minute!" she growled.

Out of an eye's corner, the stick's branch writhed slowly, yet deliberately and purposefully. The extremities worming towards his waist, flowing with the same purpose, towards his hip where that piece of thick, fashioned metal gleamed in the light.

"No you don't!" she exclaimed.

But the stick let out a strangled groan, as her other hand seized the branch by the wrist. It was already pierced in her mind, while her thumb tried to follow through. The switches twitched, and they folded in on themselves like a dying spider.

Velcro ripped as yanked the strap free of the holster. Stick man groaned as she simply let gravity relinquish his head from her grasp; it made a hard thump on the cement. A sweep of her hand whisked the lifeless branch away, and with a twist of the wrist, the great eagle's baby slipped free of its nest easily, into her palm.

"My gun...!" the stick groaned through the floor.

"Mine now!" She retook that mangled tuff of slicked brush. Dark knots blinked, batting in the light as she tilted his head back. "My, how quickly the tables turned! Right, stick-face?"

"-Shtup! -" He cursed bitterly.

"Don't you curse at me!" Her thumb twiddled with the gun's claw hammer. The steady clicks were rewarding, like music to her ears, and relief to her sore thumb. The muzzle and his eye got acquainted nicely a moment after.

"All right--all right!" his wooden face broke, -splintered- into a mask of pain, all at the pressure, feathering through a firm hand. "OW--! Stop! Don't kill me--OW...!"

"Why?" Her brow kinked, and she let her target's buoyancy push the muzzle away.

"You're WKD4496!" he said anxiously. "You can do anything!"

"My name is Kimberly!" she sneered.

"Kimberly Possible--right," he stuttered, "of course. You can do anything, Kim Possible. Even let scum like me live! We make deal, yes?"

"A deal!?" she growled, and she overcame the buoyancy of his skin easily. Strangled was the stick's yelp, lodged in the back of his throat, which she could easily see. "How about I cap you, quick and painless!? How do you like that for a deal!?"

"NO--NO!" the stick cried. "No, not that!"

"Here's an idea." She said. "You tell me where I can find my stuff, and maybe--just maybe--I'll let you live! How's that for a deal, stick-face?"

The stick was silent, but it wasn't anything a tad more pressure on the eyeball couldn't motivate. Another yelp lodged itself in the back of his throat.

"AH--!" He cried. "All--right, all--right! I'll tell you!"

"There's a good boy!"

"Locker room!" the stick grunted. "This floor--at the other side of the complex! Your stuff should be there--if it hasn't been moved to laundry."

The other side of the complex... the other side of the network of winding, twisting corridors to nowhere; so vast and so many it put the Escutcheon to shame. There was the direct route, which was for certain, the same ones she was hoisted along on the rotisserie stick. Nothing more than entertainment for the myriad of guards that bobbed past.

"You honestly think you can escape, 96?" the stick chuckled weakly.

The muzzle sank into that dark knot a little further.

"Possible--!" the stick grunted. "Do you...?"

"I'd have to say," she rolled her eyes, "hello...! Yeah--!"

"That's what they always said!" The stick laughed. "Every last one of them! They thought... they could actually escape!"

"What...?"

"No one ever escapes the Organ Grinder!" The stick said. "No one can outrun the Major's bullets, or his brother! No one ever does! Where do you think this mess came from?"

"Always a first time for everything." She shrugged it off. "Let me be the first to set a precedent around here."

"First Irish to get creamed?" He smirked. "I'll drink to that--!"

The stick's head snapped; her hand recoiled after she smashed the butt into his temple. Stick man was out like a light, colder than shallow breath of quieted sigh. Her knees were tender, cracking gently as she stood back up, burning sorely almost as much as her shoulder.

The heap of mangled flesh and metal let out a buzzing groan. It wouldn't be long till the freak came to, righting itself back onto its tracks, its thirst for thick crimson lusting for hers. She needed to escape, and fast.

"I need out!" her lips dragged into a smirk, her eyes rolling over the curves, the creases, and folds of olive. "And guess what, stick-face! You're going to help to me!"

---

"Come now, Mr. Drazen." Uzi sighed as the Spanish coot persisted his sugarcoated banter, pressing the issue so much that what little nerve he had felt warm and sticky, as though he fell into a cotton candy machine. "I can clearly see that you have put my merry bond to very much good use, constructing and managing this behemoth of a lair, underneath the desert's veiling sands, without an eye's blink."

"And it isn't anywhere near complete, Senor Senior." He noted. "The only thing you can truly call complete is my quarters. Even then, the plumbing's less than stellar."

"You've even captured Kim Possible." the coot remarked, awestruck still, though he couldn't have forgotten already--not this early, not after the little show in Galil's fun house. "The bane of evil's old existence, unlike her own. As tiresome as she is, I have to say that she has done more in her short time than I have done in my own. So many missed opportunities; so many a time where I could have made a dent in this world, so many times I didn't...."

"What of it?" he frowned.

"A dying wish." The Spaniard continued. "As much as she vexed me so, in the golden tradition of villainy, I must tip my hat to her."

"Dying wish?" he kinked his brow. "You're not terminally-ill, are you?"

The mat of salt-and-pepper slipped back further than what it should have, when the coot tilted his back his head, his mouth open wide as out came a laugh from the depths of his belly. What that erroneous Book of Evil taught, no less.

"Me?" the coot laughed. "Ridden to my own demise, am I? No--no, my boy! Who ever said that I would wish for that on my deathbed? I'm talking about dearly departing Kimberly Possible. And as much as the Book of Evil and I disagree with your rationale, I shouldn't deny an Irish Catholic her last rights, should I?"

"I didn't think she was a religious American." He thought briefly, passively. "Then again, there are no atheists in a foxhole... or a G's fun house, while I'm at it."

"Who am I to surmise?" the coot shrugged. "I am just--"

"A simple multibillionaire, trying to find his true path no matter what walk of life he takes." His finish came out in a deflating sigh.

"Exactly!" the geezer nodded. "Is as you say, the nail on the head! But before Junior and I take our leave, back to our fantasy island--"

His face nearly broke in laughter, his amusement blowing out his nose in a powerful snort.

Those dried orbs of blue blinked. "What?"

"Oh nothing..." His kinking brows took turns peaking, working the amusement out for all its worth. "As you were saying, back on your island... where fantasies come true...."

"You young people and your jokes!" The coot dismissed. "But as I was saying, before Junior and I go home, I must know what else you are planning to buy or upgrade. After all, it is my euros that are going to work for you, Major Drazen."

"Euros over there," he cleared his throat, "shekels over here."

"Of course." The geezer nodded, that mat slipping down that loose scalp a little too much. "How forgetful am I today. But no matter what shape money takes, its master--i.e. Me--needs to know what use it's making of itself in all its forms. It's how it is said, how a fool and money are soon parted. As I have also told my son, a proper villain always follows up on his investments. Now my good Major, would you be so kind as to share what else you've been putting my money--or my -shekels-, as you Israelis say--to work?"

Uzi put his only index to his gnarled chin, rubbing at the tight folds of flesh that clung to his jaw. His only good eye took in the bright corridor purposelessly, the fluorescents reflecting of the steelwork brilliantly as though the cleaning crew had over done it with turtle wax. Not a shadow in sight; everything was out in the open.

"It's a rather long walk to the docking bay from here." He noted. "Do you truly with to know?"

The Spaniard's slack lips some how pulled into a toothy grin, slipping over the teeth with ease.

"Ah-ha!" The corridor rattled fleetingly with a sturdy tap of the cane. "I knew it! You are working on something else!"

"You got me...!" His brow perked while the corners of his lips dropped.

"Come now, Mr. Pie-man!" The coot said. "Woo me with your wares. Show this investor what else you have in store."

"Of course, Senor Senior." He nodded. "But you must promise that whatever you may see in the dock, you cannot--absolutely CANNOT--tell anyone. Not even your own son."

"Not even Junior?" the coot blinked.

"Not even him--!" He shook his head--and felt gravity suddenly take hold of the razors stuck in his skull. It seized control of his combat load, and wanted to steal it away for itself. The hinge of his peg creaked, its clang ringing harshly through out the room as he was forced to take a knee. "OH!"

"Major Drazen!" the coot gasped. "My word, are you alright?"

"I'm fine...!" he groaned, his hand going for the pocket on his chest. The olive button fell to the ground, rolling on its side in a small semi-circle just before it toppled. "For the most part, anyway--! I just need my shot!"

"Young man," Senior said sternly, "you are in no need of some mysterious magic tab."

"Yes--!" he grunted. His favorite giant of Gath slipped smoothly out the pocket, its thin cap sliding between his lips. The giant's ominous spear glinted menacingly in the light as its sheath joined with the button on the floor. "I--am!"

He took in a quick breath, keeping it from his lungs as it swelled within his tightening throat. With a mighty grunt, Goliath drove his mighty spear deep within the meat of his good leg. The giant's mighty strength trickled into his body; he could feel it flow all the way throughout. The weight just... floated away into nothing.

He kept the air from his lungs no longer, and he gently wiggled the thin spear out of him as if it were a stinger. He let out a sigh and let the hinge of his peg lock as he pushed himself to his feet.

"Feel better?" the geezer said formally. "Must you put yourself through this drama everyday? Believe me, young Major, your s-curve will be the bane for the rest of your days if you keep hauling that machine gun everywhere you go."

"I feel so much better...!" his quip tasted bittersweet. "Thank you so much for asking."

"Does this happen often?"

"Yeah..." he rubbed at his leg, "at least a few times a day. But now it's becoming more frequent."

"Drug tolerance will do that." Senior noted.

"Predictable, yes, but not without its share of sudden surprise." He replied. "I should really see the Doc sometime. But if you want to see my latest project, I suggest we hurry. Your private jet leaves in a short while, yes?"

"It just landed in Elat." The coot nodded--and Uzi felt his lungs work a little easier just at the words. "I hope you have someone to take us the airport."

"I'll put you on our fastest transport." He said. "But come now. The wise king waits for no stragglers."

"King?"

"You'll see." He said. "I heard he's almost finished too. Consider this an honor, Senor Senior. No civilian has ever been able to the king before. You should feel proud."

The Spaniard blinked incredulously, the loose face twisted in perplexity as though he had lost his mind. He paid it no mind, and he swept his hand gracefully away, toward the impending junction. He smirked.

"Come...."


	25. Chapter 25

25

Stick face would be fine. He'd be a good boy; she was sure of it. It wasn't like she gave the man a choice when that rope scratched at the man's lips, wrapping itself around his head with her -gentle- guidance. Rope snug against his wrists, the rough fibers imbedding themselves around his bony ankles, she threaded him like a naked bobbin.

Naked was apt; the rest of his olive garb lay strewn before her like it did when the stick got a taste of that scarred man's medicine. She scooped up that thin rag that was the jacket. Fresh warmth relieved her of the cold as she slipped her arms easily through, but the flap that wisped her tender flesh blossomed the faintest of red.

"Still bleeding...!" she cursed. "Shit!"

Her sore leg and shoulder didn't fair much better, but crying over spilt milk never solved anything. Her open wound was nothing that a little duct tape couldn't handle. She was sure she saw a nice, thick roll sitting idly on the table behind the one-way glass, just as they hoisted her inside.

Her soles gladly basked in the boots' warmth as she headed for the door--limped for the door, as that swelling lump of pain refused her leg to flex. There was nothing she could do to hide it; nothing she could do for it, except pray to God that no one eyed her with scrutiny.

Tank Man let out another blaring, buzzing grunt, with a bit of consciousness hinting itself in the noise. It wouldn't be long till he came around.

"Stick Man," she sighed, as she scooped up the holster, "when the freak comes around, pray that he's not hungry."

The holster's straps constricted around her thigh like a boa snake, though she gave them a little slack. The Baby Eagle snuggled back into its nest, and she drew the strap over its claw like a safety belt.

"Now if you'll excuse me," she hobbled for the door, "I've really got to run."

The door squealed like a stuck pig as she yanked it open, shrieking on its arc back inside the dirty frame just as she stumbled through. She stole a glance to her right. Sure enough, that shiny, sticky roll of bandages was still there, flanking a patrol cap before a pile--a kit of -tools- from Stick Man's bag of tricks. Needles were lined neatly, parallel to the long edge of the table on a long, black mat. Nasty looking pincers, scissors, and other surgical tackle shared the same, black space.

She pushed all sickening, diabolical thoughts aside, dismissing them instantly as she went for the tape. She ripped a nice, thick strip from the roll and tore it down its width evenly. She let the roll clunk back on the table. Her fingers pulled the strip taut, and her arms turned it on its short side. The elbow shooed the flap away. Carefully, she laid an extreme upon her red flesh, rolling the rest of the strip down upon the wound's length. She gave the tight strip a couple pats for measure.

The syringes rolled loosely around in her grip as though they were nothing put pencils. Her fingers worked a button through the pocket's flap, and she stuffed the needles neatly into the pocket while the heel of her thumb pinned the flap against her chest. It draped over the thin plungers easily.

Anxiously, she curled her arm around the back of her head. Her hand like a claw, scooping up all the locks her range of motion could allow. She draped them over her shoulder; her eyes sore with grief while they ran over her bold, lush locks that gleamed brilliantly even in the dull light. Only recently had her locks graced that familiar spot on her back, just a little above the small where strands themselves began to part their separate ways.

"I'm sorry, baby!" She sighed solemnly, as she scooped up that thick, shiny roll again. "I love you!"

Her lips pecked the locks in the midst of their puckering. She smoothed them out on her shoulder with a sudden wipe of the hand before it swooped to the roll. It let out another rip, tearing away a strip no longer than the length of her hand, ripping it evenly down its width. She let it stick to the tips of her fingers, letting the roll clunk to the floor as she took up her hair. Letting the length of the tape fall evenly onto her hair, she wrapped the strip around her locks tightly. The weight of it yanked her new tail of her shoulder, onto her back. The very tip of the tape tapped her jacket a little below her collar.

She gave the collar a little slack, letting it fall away from the base of her neck. Her tail slipped inside easily, the tape scratching her skin at its raw edges. Her fingers pinched at the collar and she felt the collar press against her neck again. The jacket buttoned up easily enough. Her brow dropped a couple degrees as the cap's bill hid her from the hot light.

The lock clicked---POP--SNAP---when she pushed in that little button on the knob. She eased away from the door, gazing emptily at that pane of glass beside it. The heaping freak twitched more and more, every writhe alive and flowing with purpose. It looked awake, though it wasn't, and God knew only how long the squeaky door could keep it busy.

"It won't hold up." The faint figure in the looking glass replied, gazing back with the very same panic swelling in each emerald eye. Her chest puffed as she took in a deep breath, letting it sit briefly in her lungs, "Okay Kimberly, you can do this...! Go with the gut, and don't look anyone in the eye...."

She turned away at the freak's sudden twitch, hurried boots carrying her toward the sturdy door on the adjacent wall. She turned the knob, and thumbed that little button while she huffed the door open. She then angled her arm around the door's edge, giving the outside knob a little twist. It rattled predictably and gravity relinquished her hand back to her side, the door's closer guiding the heavy door back into the sturdy frame.

"That shouldn't be too much of a task," she thought mutedly aloud, "should it...?"

---

"Wow...!"

The coot was struck lame, mustering only one word in a hollow drawl, standing lifeless as though carved from stone, caught in some dizzying, terrifying rapture unbeknownst to anyone else around. He stood there rapt, his arched back lifting his chest up a few inches, his cane out from behind him, holding his frail body up like a kickstand. Uzi wasn't sure if the geezer had already departed.

There was only one way to find out, only to him since it just popped into his head. Others would have taken drastic measures, carefully laying the coot down upon a gurney and wheeling ass for the good doctor. But not him; he uncurled his only index and saw the tip wrinkle the cloth as it sank into that designer jacket. Driving his strength into his digit, the geezer tipped away dramatically with a huff--

--And the weathered eyes blinked, his cane swooping around to his side, its tip stopping him as it dropped into a control crack on the floor. Senor Senior stumbled back onto his feet, shaking sense back through that mat atop his head, batting his eyes.

"Oh...!" that slick mat shifted opposite the motions of his slick head. "What...?"

"Still alive, Senor Senior?" He asked. "That's good. By that stupid look on your face, I wasn't sure if you were dead or not."

"Me?" the coot replied. "Dead? Oh no, my young Major. You thought wrong. It'll take more than a really big cannon for this man to kick the bucket. But I must say... what on God's green earth is that thing!?"

"Oh that...?" a smiled crawled across his face.

Gazing proudly at those huge barrels that bedecked his greatest creation, a sudden rush of pride surged throughout his body. Barrels of his ultimate weapon, all three pierced through the darkness of the docking bay, crowing, flanking the shiny brilliance of the bullet-resistant tower of telemetry.

And it was his, -ALL- his--design, construction, manpower--all of it his own, and for him to control! Gladius? Ha! That was a laugh! America had nothing on the king, and there was nothing they or the -Untied- Nations could do to stop it. In fact, the nations of this disgusting, intolerable world were due for a meeting with the king. Jordan, Lebanon, Syria, Egypt, "Palestine"--hell--the whole goddamn Middle East for that matter.

-It's going to end.... - He thought. -Jacob's cousins can't seem to tolerate his existence. They live only for his demise, above their own lusts for the blood of each other. I can't have that.... Not even in my death! -

"Haven't you been paying attention, dear Senior," he asked haughtily, "to anything I said? Surely you should know by now to what you are gazing blankly."

"Your king?" the coot said incredulously. "This is not a king! This is a cannon! Twice the size of Gustav, at least I must say, fixed with two extra barrels. You call this your king? Oh, my young lad, you truly are delusional...."

"Behold my salvation, Senor Senior!" he paid the coot no mind. He was on a roll. "Solomon Rex, standing before you now in all his glory and power! With him, all who oppose me will fall like the walls of Jericho. With my greatest creation at my fingertips, who can surly be against me?"

"You would truly be surprised, my young major." Senior's head twitched irritably, as though he might have been talking to the very slick cement he stood on. "I too once thought that when I toed the trepid waters of villainy. With my vast resources and my free time abundant, I thought surely no one would pester me. How wrong I was; how wrong my son's 'blue fox' tried to make me feel."

"Is there a point to this detour down Memory Lane, Senor Senior?" He watched the vast grandeur of the king shift in a circle before him as his sigh came out thick.

"No matter how strong or great you may think you are, my dear boy," tingling heat flushed up from out his belly, growling inwardly at the coot, "there will always be someone stronger or greater than you. You should know that by now, young major, and they may never appear to your expectations. Appearances can be deceiving! That's my point."

"Right...!" the king made another shift around before him.

"Then again," the Spaniard shrugged, "why should I bother anymore? I stopped making points a long time ago. There was just no point anymore, especially with my son constantly getting intimate with the giant bulb back home when he isn't with the maids."

The large bird at his hip was squawking out to him, calling for him to help it out of its nest, behooving him to let it help the old man find rest possibly for once in his life. As much as he would, he couldn't let the bird have its way. Whenever he let it go into action, it nestled back into the nest with such a terrible mess in the wake.

The bird would have to wait another time to fly the coop in an explosive fanfare. His hand flanked at the nest purposelessly as soft, hurried footsteps made his ears twitch. He had heard them every time a busy man rushed by, a salute like a sloppy karate chop to the forehead in the blur. Yet these hurried feet made his fingers curl with rationale, just how they barely bounced off the floor, off his drums, as though they belonged to a woman.

- I don't recall the Organ Grinder had more than a handful.... - his brow kinked. -Something might be up...! -

The coot babbled on without an ear to listen at an eye's stolen glance. He already relinquished his own back, although it had yet to dawn on the tired Spaniard. Shades of olive whipped around the corner further down the hall. A man in VSA colors came steadily at him upon rushed boots, arms folded squarely behind the back, face hidden by the bill of the cap. The tag read Eli, yet he looked... different somehow, as though he lost a little weight although his stature required no such need.

"Eli...!" he called. Eli squeaked--as God as his witness--that funny little stick man squeaked, both shoulders twitched in girlish surprise, as he brushed past. "Where's the fire, Eli?"

"I--um...." The stick replied. Eli was never much of a conversationalist. It's probably why he kept to himself most of the time, locked in his own little world where he could judge the lemmings with impunity as they hurried by. Maybe it's why he made a good interrogator, next to Tristian, somehow keeping those very hands square behind his back as G got his dirty and bloodied. "Uh...."

"I thought so...." He hummed. "Don't you know the procedure yet? You've been here for a few weeks, I know, but you should know the simplest stuff at least!"

"Uh--!"

"Don't 'uh' me!" He said firmly. "I'm not Galil! Sure I maybe young, but I'm still Commandant of this facility! And the Commandant does not appreciate it when you do not look at him when he's talking to you!"

"Yeah...!"

"Are you listening, Eli?" he frowned. "Look at me when I'm talking to you! Or did that bitch take a lot out of you, eh?"

Eli's fingers curled deeper into the palms... his small, slender fingers, so soft and flush with youth as though they never lifted against anyone in their entire existence. His own fingers went for his bird's safety belt, watching those strange fingers tighten in their palms at the unnerving rip of Velcro.

"Isn't that right...?" a devilish smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, his fingers tugging at the bird's butt.

"Major Drazen!"

Someone called for him, near the king's treaded feet, steps quick and intermittent as though the nameless man was running. The heel of his hand pushed the bird back into its nest, drawing its safety belt across its bulky bottom, giving the strip a nice pat as he rolled it over that plush, rough square of furry fibers.

The steps were not as hollow as the boots rushed their owner into the corridor. For a brief moment, they were flat and solid as the soles slapped at the pavement underfoot just before they ceased at a quick, sharp halt beside him. With a weighty heart, he gave the "stick" a head start. S/he would have to wait anyway.

"Major Drazen!" the silly Lieutenant called.

"Yes!" He winced briefly. "I'm right here. Thank you so much for screaming in my ear."

"Apologies, Mr. U." Shia saluted strongly. Uzi let his eyes take a lap around the sockets. Formality was such overrated pomp and circumstance; something dear daddy had been trying to teach him for some time.

"As you were." He sighed. "Now, what do you want?"

"Sir, the good doctor requests your presence."

"Drakken?" he blinked. "What does that Smurf want?"

"Uh--negative!" Shia shook his head. "The -actual- good doctor, Sir. I don't remember his name, I'm sorry."

"Don't be." The retort came in the wobbly shaking of his noggin. "The man never gave it to begin with. Don't know why though--and yet..."

He thought fleetingly. He had never seen the good doctor before in his life, but why--why did he just feel as though he had known the man long before. Maybe they did meet before... in one of those "past-life" things. Then again, it was probably nothing when it came down to it.

"...Yes sir...?"

"Seems so familiar...." He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I've been down here too long or something."

"Helsinki Syndrome, Sir?" the Lieutenant said openly. "Maybe...?"

"I... don't think I'm that bad." He felt his guts push up against his throat, feeling his gullet constrict. "Yuck!"

"Just a thought, Mr. U--!"

"I didn't hire you to think, Bonnet!" he growled. "You're hired to do what I tell you!"

"I--!"

"Now that it's out of the way," he took in a refreshing breath of cold, stale air, "what does the doc want?"

"Your measurements for your new--'delivery system'--Sir."

"Delivery system?" he blinked--before his only hand swooped up to greet his face with a hearty slap upon his strange brow. "Oh--right...! I completely spaced that. Thanks soldier. Radio the doc. Tell him I'm on my way to the medical wing right now."

Gravity seized him by the shrapnel, persuading him to pay the coot a little more attention rather forcefully. The Spaniard stood there with help of his cane, his loose features twisted barely in perplex with wide, blinking eyes. His lips scrunched in a small, sour pucker.

"Personally escort Senor Senior to the transport, if you will." He carried on coolly, though "Eli" had already made like a ghost, upped and vanished without a trace. "And be sure to round up his son before you leave before you have him leave for Elat. He's the big beefcake, brawn far over his brain with a Caesar haircut. You can't miss him, even if you tried."

"I know, Sir!" the curly top saluted.

"Good." He nodded.

"Young Major Drazen, I must protest!" The old coot made like the verb. "This 'Eli' that you simply let walk away could not have been the man you thought he was. Not with that height, or especially those fingers! I maybe well over the hill, but these old eyes can spot an imposter a good mile kilometer away! You make good from this and sound the alarm quickly!"

"I know exactly what you mean, Senor Senior." He turned for the coot. "Don't worry."

"Then what are you doing, standing around here as though it were nothing?" the coot's knuckles paled, strangling the pommel on his cane. "You must act now!"

"This coming from Senor -Tradición-?" He blinked sarcastically. "I'm shocked and amazed! You of all people, Senor Senior, should know that the thrill of the hunt is in the chase. Besides, my brother would never growl at me again if I took his prize."

"But--!"

"Let Galil take care of her. You got a plane to catch."

The corridor shook with a terrible sound; a frightening sound that bellowed from deep within the facility, deep in Hell where the unfortunately brave met the Devil's little helper personally. Senior's cane nearly slipped out underneath him in the midst of a tremor, Bonnet jumped in a frightened, girlish scream. Something wicked this way comes: Galil Drazen on the hunt.

"And so..." his bright smile pulled across his face slowly, "Kimmie's curtain falls...!"

---

Junior had enough of this scary place, where the locals were as pale and cold as their hardened hearts and their base of operation. The utter callousness unnerved him as it encroached upon his being, a thick suffocating cloud he couldn't escape, as long as his father was with that creepy, mutant major.

And if the Major was that hideous, he did not wish to know what the story was with his sibling. "Tank Man", that's what the hardened locals called him, yet few--seemingly the privy--had ever met the ubiquitous beast. The scarred man--scarred -young- man, he could say--wasn't talking. The Louis Stevens kid couldn't say a sentence without it turning into a campfire ghost story.

It didn't matter in the end. He was certain his father would tell all, dispel all the horrific hype once they were back in Spanish waters. The jet ride home--heck--the lift to the airport couldn't come soon enough. He was hot, sweaty, and the harsh lights and the dark shadows were playing havoc on his complexion. The giant bulb back home had nothing on those harsh spotlights, bright and burning like the Sahara sun. Maybe it'd be better if one of those shadows just reached out a touched him, consumed him, and stole him away from that terrible light.

"Huh...." He sighed. "I miss my Honolulu Kyle--!"

His knee suddenly buckled on its own, the leg twisting in at the hip as the horizon jumped up a few inches. His face almost kissed the slick, nasty cement below, but his knee helped him regain balance for--a tic as something clenched around his neck, scratching it as it constricted awkwardly like an arm.

"AHH!!" He squealed. "TANK MAN!! AHH!!"

"Shut up!" it said with such startling effeminacy.

"Don't kill me, please!" he begged. "I'm a good boy--honest! You don't want to eat me! I'm too lean and stringy!"

"I said shut up!" its scratchy tendril put the squeeze on harder.

"-AHH...! -"

"You calm?" s/he growled roughly.

"You going to eat me?" he asked.

"Shut up, Junior!" s/he barked as though the cords had been snipped. "I'm not going to eat you! Not like I ever wanted to anyway!"

Somehow, within the terrible surge of the panic attack, his eyes just barely worked the lids closed before they snapped right open. A sudden calm rushed through his body, his muscles eased, and he simply let the thing take control as though no harm would come.

"Wait a minute!" he blinked again. "I know that voice!"

"Knew you would." S/he--she replied. "How is the yellow trout, anyway?"

"Blue fox?" a sudden panic burned the calm to an insignificant crisp. "...AHH!!"

"What??" the tendril nearly slipped off his neck as he stumbled to his feet.

"BLUE FOX IS THE TANK MAN!!" his hurried feet took quickened turns, one behind the other, as he charged backwards for the nearest wall--pillar--whatever it was, as long it was solid and hard. "GET--IT--OFF--ME--NOW!!"

"JUNIOR...!" s/he yelled.

The shade rolled underneath his feet quickly, pushing the glistening cement away before him. The wall was in reach; he was home free--

Till his other knee gave out. The dark-and-bright ceiling swept down before him, the leech stuck on let out a yelp at his head's quick and sudden grace. His back landed upon a natural form, so soft and so small. It couldn't have been the freak of nature, surely not, if whatever Louis Stevens said had been true....

"Blue Fox...?" reality took hold of him, and slapped him one on the back of his head. "Is that really you?"

"OH...!" s/he--she groaned. "YES! Get off me...!"

"Oh--right!" he lumbered to his feet. "My apologies, my dear, sweet blue fox--!"

"Save it, Junior." His heart dropped a few beats as his eyes ran over that frown, that deep frown that just beamed the frustration swelling in her like that nasty lump on her head, below the shade of the cap's bill. "I'm not in the mood!"

"Of course...!" he blinked again. "Wait a minute! Why are you here? And why pray-tell are you wearing that tacky olive drab? You're not with that creepy major, are you?"

"Me--??" her emeralds nearly popped out of her head. "With that monster? Please.... For someone who claims to be my yellow trout, you sure don't seem like blue fox material."

"What are you talking about, my love?" he asked. "Our union is written in the stars above, on the beasts of the land and the sea! It is foolish to deny such truth, hopping across the globe, joining this strange outfit, and the like. It is our destiny! You cannot run away from it. So saith your yellow trout, and the book of Animology!"

"Why I took that stupid test, I'll never know!" she growled. "And for the last time, I'm not with this terror group! I'm actually -trying- to bail, and you're not helping!"

"So..." an eyebrow kinked. "You're not with the major?"

"NO...!" she growled loudly.

"Then why are you wearing that tacky outfit?"

"What--!?" she blinked. "Are you... serious!? And I thought that Zoolander was bad...."

"Who?"

"Oh--just forget it!"

"Oh." He shrugged. "Okay. As you say, my fox. And I do wish that you would find yourself some better trousers. You can't turn olive drab into totally fab, even for you."

"And you can quit with the Style File too...." She sighed.

"Fine." He nodded.

He let hollow, stagnant air take up the space between them. Kimberly, that little blue fox of his dreams, didn't seem like her usual, perky self. She was dead on her booted feet, a leg buckled, twisted in towards her other knee, her torso slumped to the side where a little patch of red blossomed, no bigger than a two-euro coin from what her clenched hand didn't bother to hide. Her lips twitched, quivered as they were pulled into some kind of sneer.

"You're not in pain, are you?" he asked simply.

"Me?" she bared her pearly-whites, currently in a clench. "Oh no.... Why would I be? Sure I was almost dinner for a freak on wheels, but its nothing a little band-aid couldn't fix."

"Oh!" he nodded. "That explains it."

"Why your old man keeps you around, I'll never know either." She groaned--

The room rattled! As God as his witness, the room itself rattled with a terrible sound, a horrible screeching, screaming sound like a dying bird or something, buzzing with static, crackling and snapping like a crow caught in an electric fence. Not that he had ever heard such an event, nor would he want to. Yet that after-sound was strange, a rumbling, growling sound right before it cut off, like a beast of a grizzly bear or something of the sort.

From her painful sulk, Kimberly shot her head up, her emeralds glazed over with a terrible fright, one he thought that paralyzed the fox completely as though someone shot a dart through her heart. And yet it didn't, for her other hand went straight for the holster on her hip. The little strap of fabric wagged like a tail, and that funky little pistol slipped out with urgency by her hand.

"Tank man--" she gasped, "no! It's already awake!"

"TANK MAN!?" he gulped.

"I have to go!" she exclaimed. "Are you going to help me out of here or not!?"

"You should know me better--my Blue Fox!" he pulled it together, yet no matter how hard he tried, pieces kept slipping through his shaky fingers. Amazing he hadn't squealed like a sissy, making like that cowardly Great Dane and leaping into the weak arms of the nearest person. "For you--I counted the days till my father's villainous activities brought us together again. I did--really!"

"Is that a yes?" she said gruffly.

"Yes--my love!" he bobbed his head violently. "I'll follow you to the ends of this terrestrial ball!"

"Unless you want to be Tank Man's next guest at dinner, we'd better get going." She said gravely. "And check any cuts you might have. I just have this feeling...!"

"Of what?" he asked.

"Oh--forget it." She dismissed with a shake of her head. "Come on. Let's get out of here!"

"I agree, Blue Fox--!"

"Junior!"

"What??"

---

Tara blinked, gasping for air; her abs yanked her upright swiftly from her uneasy rest upon the couch. Something was wrong--terribly wrong, as if the whole earth shifted oddly on its axis. The sudden sense of dread came over her, shaking her very being by its viscous, clammy grip.

-Oh God...! -

Kimberly was in trouble in some way, in some fashion where she couldn't make top or bottom of it. Something was gunning for her; another hunter from that crazy Major's party, cold and emotionless, carrying out its gruesome, morbid task without question or conscious.

A chilly feeling deep inside stirred her, running its icy touch down her spine, bumps protruded out of her forearms in gaggles.

"She is in trouble...!" she gasped.

"Who's in trouble, Hon?"

Her man's feet clomped upon the mat, scratching at it, so her told her as she turned for him. His tan brow glistened in the natural light, a few drops of sweat beaded on the skin. One drop became a slick smear, trailing down his crown and disappearing into that thin line of brush just a bit above his eye.

"Someone's in trouble?" the darker blond followed Yune in, his brow slick and beaded as though it were raining, his sneakers gracing the mat with a simple wipe.

The two had spent the last hour or so in free spar, Ron with that monkey kung-fu mumbo-jumbo while Yune gave him a run for his shekels. Then again, Yune hardly ever broke a sweat for as long as she knew him, at least not with her during her practice.

"What's going on, T?" Yune asked. "Did you hear from Kim?"

"No, not yet." She shook her head. "But...."

"But what?"

"I just got this feeling, and it won't go away." She replied. "Kim's in danger of something really bad! If I only knew what!"

"Well yeah, T." Ron quipped tactlessly. "She's being held by some nutcase who won't take a dirt nap."

"Don't you think I know that already?" she frowned severely.

"Guys." Yune drew his good hand across his brow, smearing the sweat away. "The enemy is out there, not in here. So don't let this escalate into a shouting match, okay?"

"Fine with me, Yune." Ron nodded. "But can you blame us? Kim's trapped somewhere in parts unknown, Sadie's out of action, and we're sitting on our hands till God knows what. We have to figure out something before it's too late!"

"I know, Ron." He nodded back. "But you said it yourself, she's lost in dark territory. And we can't very well do anything till we find her, or till she finds a way to signal. You took that STS course with her, you -should've- remembered what they said."

"Yeah..." the boy sighed, "but this waiting game's killing me!"

"We could always pray." she suggested politely. "Or you guys can always practice some more."

"That's not a bad idea, T." Yune replied. "You could use the practice."

"Me??" she blinked.

"Yeah, you!" He furrowed his brow gravely. "We're probably in so deep, we can never claw our way back out. And as crude as this may sound, T, I can't be bothered anymore to baby-sit. We can't afford to have anyone distracted during the heat of battle, okay?"

"No, that's not crude, Yune." She shook her head. "It didn't sound that nice, but I know you mean well."

"I do." He nodded, lips hinting a bit of a smirk. "And I don't think you're at your fighting best when you're in heels, T."

"I know." She smiled warmly. Her knees locked as she brought up her forelegs. Her heels slipped out of the cups as her pumps dangled by the toes. "But you have to admit, these do make my legs look dainty, don't they Yune?"

"Of course." He smiled back.

"I'll say--!" Ron's little buddy clambered out of his cloth pouch, the flap capping those beady dark eyes that seemed to be just a little bit bigger. Its tongue dangled loosely from its jaw. She wasn't sure whether to cringe or be flattered. Thankfully, it got the message when its master laid down the rules, shoving that rodent back into the burrow where it belonged. "Oh--hey...!"

"Sorry, buddy!" Ron said, slipping the buttons through the eyes of the pocket flap. "But no interspecies crushes on my watch! That's just sick and wrong, you know."

"She's already taken!" she smirked.

"HMM!" it growled.

"Come on, T." Yune motioned for the bedroom as he turned on his heel, strolling coolly for the kitchenette. "Go get changed. There should be an old BDU there and some boots I had from a while ago. They were from my really early days with The Family, so they might fit."

"Thanks...." She said flatly. "Like I haven't had enough of old Mr. Drazen already."

"Oh well." He shrugged. Her heart jumped as Yune went smoothly for that knife block on the corner.

"What the heck are you doing with that?" she asked pryingly as her worried eyes ran over the many serrations on that bread blade.

"I've been out of it for too long, Tara." He said as his shoulder twitched off the strap for the sling. It fell to the tile in a crumple. Her heart quickened as he trained that blade for his white, solid forearm. "It's time that Bin-Mok came back to active duty again."

"Oh--no you don't!" she sprang awkwardly to her feet while her heels slipped roughly back into the cups.

"Yes I am, Tara!" he slowly drew that blade down the length of the hard bandage. The bits of "sawdust" were like motes in the sunlight. "Don't try to stop me. I'm not being the gimp of this team anymore!"

"You could do yourself more damage!" she rushed for that blade. "And the hell I'm going to get an earful from the doctor!"

Her heel clomped on the tile, but she felt Ron's hand latch onto her wrist before she had a chance to lift her other foot of the carpet. It pulled harder as her front foot nearly slipped out back from under her.

"Let him do his thing, Tara." Ronald said.

"But the bones have barely had the time to grow!" her arm protested the grip. "If he removes the cast, they may not fuse right!"

"Trust me on this, Tara." Yune said. She let her forearm give into the grip as she let out a sigh. She should have known by now what futility it was to argue.

"Fine." She sighed, and let her eyes roll a lap around. "But if you get busted again, I'm not the one going who's going to get it from the doc!"

"You said that already, T." the "sawdust" was in a nice, conical pile on Robin's clean floor. She could see a bit of his skin through the clean crack by the elbow.

"Fine--whatever!" she took her arm back powerfully, throwing both limbs into the air dismissively. "Do your thing, Yune. Don't listen to me. I'm just the voice of reason in this zoo!"

"And I think we found our howler monkey too...!" Yune quipped smugly.

"I heard that!" she twisted her neck around, over her shoulder, shooting him a dirty glare. She could have shot him with something else, but that really wouldn't have helped matters.

"MONKEY!?" Ron squealed immaturely, the floor banging as hopped around the place dancing mad. "WHERE!? WHERE'S THE MONKEY!?"

"Real mature, Ron!" she growled.


	26. Chapter 26

26

"Junior!" Kim exclaimed. "Will you come on, please? We don't have time to pussyfoot around!"

"I'm trying, Blue Fox!" the overgrown child of a beefcake said with a haggard breath, stumbling after her, tripping over his own feet almost. "I'm trying my best…! This air! It's so thick… and suffocating! I can hardly breathe as it is!"

"I know." She huffed. "But we have to keep moving! I hate to say it, but stragglers get left behind in this case! And I don't want blood on my hands--not yours or anyone else's. Got to keep them clean for the Major's comeuppance, at least…."

"Oh, Blue Fox." Junior said coolly with a knowingly tone she always found so pompous, so irritating like a stubborn rash. "Why should we be afraid of this Tank Man in the first place? Sure his screech sounds terrible. But ten to one, Ms. Possible, his bark is far worse than his bite."

She blinked, dubious certainly of the beefcake's sudden surge of resolve that seemingly forced steel into his spine. She couldn't be certain for sure. Junior stood there with arms folded, so confident, so cool, and suave as though a fiery S was emblazoned behind that immature façade.

"Oh really?" she put a severe kink in her brow, perked to its maximum. Her catchwords took the back seat, pressing the back of a hand to the brow, arching her spine while the other hand unbuttoned the top to the BDU. "Oh--that's right! You never actually had the pleasure of Tank Man, did you Junior?"

Junior's brow kinked. It told her all it needed to.

"Uh…." He stuttered. "No…."

"I suspected that, Junior." She smirked weakly as she slipped the last button through the eye. "Don't worry about it. You like to work your body out, right?"

"I do my fair share, yes." He said humbly.

"I'm not the one you have to worry about, Junior." She let her other hand flop to her side from off her crown, just before she brought it back up to the flap of the jacket. "But let me be the one to tell you what a night with the freak can really do for the oblique muscles."

Like large front doors, the flaps of the BDU arced open, revealing Junior the natural splendor of the proverbial vestibule. At first she couldn't tell what he was gawking at, but the growing whites of his eyes simply beamed the nauseating surprise. The vestibule closed swiftly for good measure, too abruptly for Junior's tastes, it wasn't hard to notice.

"Oh man…." Junior was practically speechless.

"Tell me about it…." Her fingers kept busy with the buttons on the jacket, threading them through the holes again. "I'm surprised I'm still walking after last night…."

"What kind of gym does this freak run!?" Junior demanded strongly. "I ought to report him to an association, a union--or something!"

She moaned, letting her eyes roll habitually… slowly, weakly. The corridor seemed distant and quiet, as though she were looking at a painting of it. Weakness was a glowing crack in her skull, her brain slipping out through it while her head felt a few pounds heavier than it should be.

"Oh…!" she groaned. The ceiling wanted to roll down before her, but she kicked a foreleg out behind her, catching herself on the ball of her foot. "Boy…!"

"Blue Fox?" Junior's arms unfolded, letting them flop at his sides. "What is the matter?"

"Nothing." Sense sealed that crack in her skull as she batted her eyes. "Must have lost a few more pints than I thought."

"And you still are!" Junior said. "Even with that tape, you're still bleeding."

"Hirudin, I know…." She said weakly. "That leech! G must have it in its spit, or even hemetin! Either way, I don't have much time and I still need to find my clothes!"

"That cheap top with those tacky cargos?" Junior blinked. "Why risk life and limb over a pair of lousy trousers?"

"You'll see when we get there!" She brought her boot alongside the other as she righted herself. "Now let's go!"

"You're the boss." The beefcake shrugged.

Steadily, her legs carried her down the hall. Her eyes lifted her head to the skinless ceiling, running over those large square grates warily between long gaps of twisting, binding wires threaded messily over sturdy beams and smaller, curvy duct work. It was strange. This building--this base didn't look even halfway finished, as though this flophouse were still under construction. How a mess like this evaded the Mossad was beyond even her--

The huge ducts creaked loudly, buckling noisily as though it were moaning. It came from down the hall, at the junction where it t-ed, clanging closer gradually. A strange flow of air fell from the grate in front of her, a humming, droning whisper of a whirr. Her hand capped the butt of Stick Man's gun, nearly spanking it, Velcro ripping briefly as she yanked it free. She thumbed the safety.

Her knees gave way as she hunched into a crouch. She turned for Junior, his dark eyes wide and quivering in sudden fright.

"Tank Man!" she mouthed. Junior looked as if he were about to break down and cry. "We have to go!"

The junction seemed a whole lot closer as she took off in a full sprint. Tank Man or not, she wasn't going to find out. The locker room was just around the bend to the right. If she could only get there--

The next grate found itself on the floor with a rattling clang, slapping the floor with after a cumbersome roll on its edge. Rubber screeched. The oversized grate was a foot away when her boots brought her to an abrupt halt. She brought her gun up, and Junior let out a girlish yelp as that menacing talon flopped out of the vent--

---What the…? ---

--Dragging its owner down with it. Her finger pressed against the trigger's spring as Uzi's little twin flopped into her sights lifelessly like a rag doll. Her feet yanked her a step back cautiously. It just hanged there, inert and limp like that crude, shoddy wiring that ran from the edge of the vent down to the back of his head, and branching off at the shoulder blade, twisting and looping through and around the cumbersome length of that horrible arm.

"So that's how it moves…." She noted. "It's like a nervous system."

"This is Tank Man?" Junior asked musingly, mockingly. "-The- fearful Tank Man, I heard so much about? Ha!"

"Easy Junior…." She let her boots yank her another step back. "You don't know this freak!"

"Just like I thought." Junior's steps were as cool and relaxed as ever, ironically at best. "The reality is no match for the stories and legends. Ten to one, I bet he cannot even lift that claw--!"

Junior went airborne, tumbling backwards in the air like… well--nothing she had ever seen before. His fleeting "OOMPH" came out of him as he graced the floor with a skid.

Tank Man's twisted, warped back arced away from her as its muscles curled it up. Its dirty claw snapped as it brought it down, snatching at her greedily while its bloodshot, clouded orbs lusted for her. The cold, cruel steel bolted on its evilly strange face leaked the hunger drop by gooey drop as its tongue lashed out for her. The cold ran a finger up her spine when it let out a buzzing shriek--

She let out a yelp as that claw snatched her by the head, the steely maliciousness wrapping around her skull, ready to crush her into a dark oblivion at a moment's notice. She felt the soles of the boots lift off the floor. The toes could just barely scrape at the hard cement.

Pure tenacity consumed her, popped her knuckles as the fingers strangled the grip of the gun. She was going to escape, one way or another, and nothing was going to stop her. That consuming, torturous, suffocating torrent in which she nearly drowned all those weeks ago, plunging into it sharply, belly-flopping onto Colonel Drazen's terrible knife again and again, there was no way she was going back there.

The message was clear as day--at least should have been when the Baby Eagle's beak pecked the freak's brow.

"Eat this--FREAK!" she snapped--

Her butt kissed the hard cement at the cracking squawk of the eagle, the gentle -ting- of brass. Out from her lips came a grateful "OW" as that refreshing pain burned at her coccyx. Her legs made her boots scrape at the cement as she scrambled away.

Tank Man hanged there motionlessly like stone, with body dangling as much at its head, hand and claw adrift in the air; it looked like a strange statue. Whether it was dead or playing possum, she couldn't be certain at all.

"Did I get it??" she blinked as she pushed herself back on her feet. Her fingers pulled at the skin of the other's knuckles as they wrapped themselves around, training the baby low at 45 degrees.

"Oh…" Junior moaned. "My head…!"

"Are you okay?" She stole a glance back. Junior had his bulky body upright with an arm angled behind, locked at the elbow. The other was busy holding his noggin tightly, as though trapping what little of his brain rattled out or what air hadn't leaked out. That sleek Caesar haircut had been upturned dramatically, grime glistening in the light, sparkling in that major cowlick.

"I'll be fine!" Junior huffed. "But my hair…! Do you know how much shampoo this is going to take, just for the grime? And all the Le Goop I have to use--! GOD!! I just had my credit balance paid off too!"

"So not the drama, Junior!" she rolled her eyes. "If you had it between this freak and freedom, I think you'll suffer through one nasty cowlick."

"Oh--how would you know!?" Junior exclaimed as he stumbled to his feet. "It is easy for you to say, since you've never had to deal with this problem! But if you want to be an international pop sensation like I dreamed, the people demand a sensational image like none ever seen!"

"Yeah right!" she moaned. "Don't give me that! If you want a real hair emergency, then talk to me about a month ago!"

"Really?" he blinked. "Why? What happened?"

What happened? Was he serious? It was all over the news, national and abroad! Even the pompous, sanctimonious Bitching British Corporation devoted a segment to her, yet not nearly as much as word of Colonel Drazen's demise. Kim Possible: world famous freelance agent and hero on what surely would have been her deathbed. It was a miracle that the news networks dropped her from the loops just after her release from Middleton General.

"You are so pampered…!" she dismissed.

"Pampers?" the beefcake blinked. "I do not need diapers! I'm a big kid now!"

"Pampered, Junior!" she let her eyes make another roll. "Oh--never mind! Let's just go!"

"But of course, my Blue Fox--!"

-BAM!! -

The thin metalwork above clanged and rattled, shivering intermittently as the beast stuck in it tried to work itself free. Slowly, carefully she turned around. Tank Man was curled into itself, having a try with the ductwork over release of its mobile unit, one hammering swipe of the claw at a time. The metal moaned painfully through that strange, buzzing growl--and the freak dipped a few inches by the waist.

"Alive!?" Junior squeaked frightfully. "But how!? You put a bullet through the head, yes?"

"I did!" she pressed her voice down to a whisper, strained like the tightness clenched around her neck. "At least--I thought I did!"

"What is it doing?"

"Isn't it obvious?" she blinked her eyes incredulously. "Oh--never mind--forget it! We have to get out of here!"

"You don't have to tell me twice, Ms. Possible!" Junior squeaked.

"Don't worry," she smirked weakly, her boots already in a full sprint for that t-junction to freedom, "I won't! Now move!"

Galil croaked in surprise as she made like a major leaguer, sliding for home underneath it and its snatching catcher's mitt. Junior was on his own, possibly for the first time ever. The time for him to claw out of his comfort zone was long overdue, that little, cushy shell he was raised so mercifully in, for there was no way she was looking back.

"Move it or lose it, Junior!" she barked.

"EEP!" he squeaked back. "Y-Yes ma'am…!"

---

Uzi felt like such a tool, a mannequin stuck in a department store somewhere, planted undistinguished among faceless peers, thrown to the disparaging scrutiny of the public as they hurried by the window. This was not for the great Major Drazen, maybe for Senor Senior's pretty boy, but not him.

His LMG sat on the nearby table idly, stripped of its owner and its magazine. Much like him, exposed, stripped of clothes and dignity before his men as they ran him over with eyes wide with uncomforting awe. His lip curled with a sneer as they whispered amongst each other.

-At least my hair's growing back nicely…. -

"What happened to him?" a couple sniggered to themselves, way out in the back row, a couple of women no less. "Did he get into a fight with a lawnmower and lose?"

"That or maybe his great daddy learned him a lesson that he wouldn't forget." The other of the two quipped giddily, her eye color hidden by that full, puffy tuft of ginger hair. Hiding out in the open, was she? It's a gutsy move on her part, no doubt. But if she honestly thought she could put one over on him, she had another thing coming.

-Preferably a sharp thing that can cover a good 30 feet or so…. -

From his impromptu T, he gravitated his arms together, rolling his palm outward and letting both extremities of man and machine press against each other gently. His arms were like those of Moses, parting the sea of faces that dared to hide his prey. Even his tailor at the moment backed away. The man knew well of his wishes. It was a shame the crowd didn't, for it took a few swipes of the arms for the message to hit home.

"Move." He mouthed.

Several in the crowd made like those annoying dolls with the exaggerated noggins, bobbling complacently before the masses parted, leaving an aisle--a range. A few long locks of red curled around her jawbone, brimming the bull's-eye eccentrically. It was perfect!

Coolly, his kukri made little sound as it slipped it out of its sheath. The darker of the two women kept the auburn busy. Good work that she'll no doubt be commemorated for. His fingers held to the spongy grip fast, and his fist brushed against the loose tissue of his ear. He kept his elbow trained squarely on the bull's-eye, letting sheer will tense his muscles tautly--

--"YAH!!" --

--And yanking his forearm down, limb locked at the joint. The kukri lost its form in the flight, nothing more than a black, spinning circle downrange. Diabolical in its purpose, slicing through the ripe, stale air as certain death blew it down the aisle. The -shikse- barely had the time to angle her pretty little head closer.

"And to think that freak is the Major's brother--!" her dark eye went wide.

Realization dawned far too late, yanking his eyelids far apart at the sight of leaping crimson, glinting hotly in the bright halogen briefly right before it splashed on the slick cement. The girl fell into the puddle in a heap, her limbs limp, angled in odd directions. His blade angled stiffly out of her neck, quivering, shaking out the last of his energy. Her friend took a knee swiftly by her side.

"Oh my God!" the darker one squealed. "KIRSTEN!?"

-Whoops…. -

"UZZIEL DRAZEN!!" that dark girl snapped at him pointedly, shooting him possibly the dirtiest of looks imaginable. Not that him and emotions saw each other eye to eye at most times.

"Yes, solider…?" he dug his finger into the complementary ear, twisting it around just before the tip simply slid out. "Thank you for making sure my ears still work."

"DON'T GIVE ME THAT CRAP, BOY!" She screamed. "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU DID!?"

"Um…!" he put the fore-knuckle of his index to his chin. Thoughts were fleeting, halted in their tracks as a sudden fury rushed through him. "Let's see, private: I spotted a bogey in the crowd, got my knife, and took the bogey down. Except… it wasn't a bogey after all! Just my imagination, it turned out to be…!"

The reddening, ginger girl laid there pitifully, jerking and quivering uncontrollably as her precious crimson oozed out from under his blade. Her dark eyes gazed blankly at the bright halogens above, coated with a glaze of dying bemusement. Her throat let out a tiny haggard, breath, and her chest puffed for a final time before it… simply sank.

"Kirsten…!" the darker one sniffed. "No…!"

Ah, that Kirsten person. That darker girl knew her well, very well. They happened to be friends since they were children, neighbors who lived across the street from each other. Both were practically green, new recruits straight from the IDF after a bombing at Tel Aviv not too long ago. Unfortunately, green was not the color of this outfit or of its insignia.

"Oops!" he mockingly squeaked. "Guess I made a boo-boo! But don't worry your pretty little head off. I'll be sure she gets a proper funeral."

-Where's G when you need him…? -

"How DARE YOU, DRAZEN!" the dark one screamed again, yanking out his kukri with a mighty huff. "YOU FUCKING -RODEF-!! I'LL KILL YOU!!"

His blade did nothing to stop itself as it whistled menacingly at him, not that it had much to say in the matter anyway. His eyes took a quick lap around, letting a sigh reverb around the spacious room as he let his arm take on all the work.

"As you wish…." He frowned--

The blade dared not to kill his master, dared not to even leave a cut when he simply snatched it out of the air, picked it like a rose when he caught it by the blade. A collective gasp swept through the crowd. He shrugged it off simply, slipping the kukri back into its sheath.

"While you were still playing dress up in your mother's closet," he sneered, his eagle pulling itself out eagerly, a little too eagerly, "I was abroad! You've ever been stuck in Yugoslavia, sticking it to the KLA and the Albanian Muslim hordes--over some stupid rumors!? I have! And, come to think of it, it was their lives and views that taught me the big purpose of their lives. And the purpose of a mongrel's life is to die…! So don't you DARE call me a -rodef- ever again!"

"I don't give a shit, Drazen!" the dark girl sneered back. "Like you don't give a shit about this country--your own people, for fuck's sake!"

"WHAT!?" his knuckles popped loudly, fingers strangling the eagle's grip. Fury was burning, a red ooze on his brain, drowning reason and sense in a torrent of range in which they couldn't escape. "YOU UNGRATEFUL SHIT!!"

"You claim you're of the people." She continued defiantly. "You say you're their protector, even the long awaited messiah of the Jew! But you know what? You're not! You're just like those fiends on the other side of the fence! Spoon feeding us with your demagoguery while you lash out at the world in your terrorist fervor!"

"I ought to crush you into dust!" he growled.

"Go ahead!" she challenged, her baby dragged out of its narrow nest against his full grown adult. The clicking of its little claw practically scratched its master's own death warrant, its own grave in the scrap yard even. "Do your worst! Not like the rest of us haven't seen it already!"

"Oh!" he took it like a gauntlet to the face, his offender standing bold and defiant while the proverbial glove laid between them, mocking him and the great authority standing proudly behind. "A duel, is this? A shame really, for if I knew it would come down to this, I'd have Shia fetch my flintlocks. Though the weapons may have changed, the vengeful spirit is the same! Why not rejoice, wench? This will surely be a glorious gunfight!"

"Are you insane!?" She demanded bemusedly, dark eyes wide, radiating the disbelief between her lids' slow blinks. "This isn't glorious--this isn't even glamorous! It's plain murder! VIOLENCE IS NOT A SPORT!!"

"Tell that to the Rugby players!" he scoffed. "Now, shut up and draw!"

"FINE BY ME!" she yelled, arcing her baby up her dark eye's level, sinking to the ground as one of her knees buckled. "TIME TO DIE--YOU DOG!!"

"You first…!" he smirked.

He let the memory of his muscles take over, letting his body fall into a tight crunch. Time was not on his side; the dark woman let a pair of eyelids fall shut like a curtain, her working index curling away. From the crouch, his body leaped into the air, low, his extremities stretching themselves out.

-PAK! -

The girl took her shot. The heels of his palms scraped the slick cement, burning like the hot lead that was sent his way discourteously. His ears snatched the loud -ZING- out of the ripe air as he tumbled over his arms, flooded soon after by a rattling of planks. The crew behind him was getting a little panicky on the scaffolding. He could have sworn one of them cursed like a Russian.

His eagle took the point as he came out of the roll, his other hand slapping the claw down as though it belonged to a Peacemaker. The girl stood awkwardly, panicky, legs twisted in towards each as she fiddled hastily with her baby's slide. It choked on its own hot feed, it seemed.

"Oh… no!!" she squeaked pathetically, weakly, her muscles with all their might trying to give her baby the Heimlich.

"Don't they teach you anything in boot camp?" he sighed, dejected as he simply let his finger take trigger up on its slack. It was so hard to find good duelists nowadays. But on the brighter side, he wouldn't have to sleep with an eye open. "All talk and little walk, eh? Such a shame!"

-BLAM!! -

His eagle bucked in his hand roughly, arcing up and briefly to the right, dragging his hand with it. The lead slug mooned him from its copper cocoon, shrinking concentrically, exponentially on its short flight. It was like watching that ginger Kirsten all over again, second by second, frame by frame as the dark girl turned predictably towards her sudden demise--

-PAK! -

Something… pushed him--shoved him hard and forcefully in the gut as though it were supposed to mean something.…

A flying, messy, stringy web of crimson leaped out of the woman chest. He had hardly seen eyes that went that wide, glistening, sparkling in the bright light before they rolled backward in her head. Her limbs went floppy instantly, flailing limply in the air as she fell to the bloodied cement in a heap. The baby went airborne, flying away without a wing to flap. It clattered to the ground, skittering away from her in a lazy spin.

"AWW…!" she screamed painfully, lifting her entry wound to a peak as she arced her back weakly.

"So pure, so weak, " a smug smirk crawled across his lips, "so green…. Too green for the Bloody Reds! With that lip, you're long overdue for a discharge!"

With its work finished for the day, suckling uselessly on another metal grub, he eased the eagle back into the narrow nest at its hip. The dark girl managed to drag her head up off the messy ground, a couple streams of crimson flowing out from the corners of her tensed, pursed lips. Something didn't sit right with him, period, at all as they curled into a smile.

"Got… you--!" her eyes rolled back into her head, her chest puffed for a final time before her last breath came out in a misty, reddened cloud. Her head hit the concrete with a sudden -thud-.

-Whoa…. -

Something didn't sit with him all right. The left side of his gut felt strange indescribably, as though the entire side constricted around his innards and whatnot, choking the crimson right out of it. His breath cycled through him differently, his ears told him, briefly and shallowly. The world became slime before him, sharply contrasted with darks and lights, oozing around as gravity seized hold of his head by the shards.

"Hit!" one of the olive blobs exclaimed. "The Major's been hit!"

"What…?" he blinked, gravity dragging his head down forwardly. "I haven't been hit--I--!"

A slick spot on beside his abs gleamed at him with a vicarious crimson shine, swimming brightly in the ooze. He blinked again, moving his hand to the spot, pressing his palm into it. It happened all the time, his victim's crimson slapping onto the flesh of his own, pooling in one of the dimples between his abs. It couldn't have been his own blood… it -shouldn't- be his own blood--!

"What… the--hell??" he said just as the tips of his fingers dived into the crimson pool.

Something was there for certain, something that shouldn't have been there to begin with, inside him deep with malignancy, solid and hard like a tumor… or even cancer. It felt small, no larger than one of his eagle's slugs of manufactured choice, not even close to its size. But eyeing the girl's smoking beak of her baby, and his fingers tracing the circumference of that crater in his flesh, it told him all it needed to.

"Well, well, well…!" he batted his eyes uselessly. That unsteady, queasy feeling was back again, tickling his brain, running its shaky touch up his belly. "Looks like the… -shikse- bopped me one after all---oh…! - I ought to kick her in the head…!"

"Major Drazen, are you okay?" the good doctor inquired.

"Okay…?" slur grabbed him by the lips, pulling them in strange directions as though he had a little too much to drink at that Zanzibar place. Then again, a cold one would do him some good right about now. "I got shot--and you're asking if I'm okay…? I'm better than okay! I'll be invincible… -whoa… - just as soon as the world stops spinning…!"

"Shit, you do need attention." The Doc noted aloud. It truly was amazing how everyone around firmly grasped hold of the obvious, telling those them what they had just done. "Everyone: listen up! Now that Solomon Rex is complete, I know you're all bored, but you're also contaminating our operating room! Anyone who's not a patient or a medic, clear out now!"

A complacent grumbling mumble swept through the crowd, washed through them, he should say. The room around him began to retake its shape, but everything still retained a bit of unstable liquidness. The olive blobs around shrank, bubbling away into the dark.

A pair of hands clasped onto his shoulders, squeezing them gently.

"Major Drazen," the good doc said, "if you please lay down supine, we can begin."

"Oh…!" he blinked. "Of course…!"

Memories of his childhood came aboard his train of thought; memories he had thought were long forgotten. He remembered it as though it were last week, going to the Na Homolice in Prague with his "mother", guiding him by the hand, how she chased him around the sterile halls over a finger stick, "a simple poke" his ass! The table should have felt cold as his back pressed against it.

"Now, Major Drazen," his heart skipped a beat as the Doc lifted up a scalpel, letting it bask in the light for a second, shining menacingly at him, "you're going to feel a little pressure around your oblique muscles. Not just yet, mind you. I still have to get the disinfectant."

"Of course…." He blinked groggily. "Do what you need to."

"Right." The man nodded. The tiny blade made a clatter nearby as the doc's hands sank underneath the horizon of his side. Liquid sloshed briefly close by. Pinched in between the latex fingers, the good man lifted up a cotton swab, stained darkly with a color that reminded him of mud. "This should sting a bit."

Sting? What sting? There was no sting at the side, not even the faintest trace of a gentle poke. Flesh at his side stretched and contracted strangely, being pulled at one side, letting its elasticity snap it back naturally as the Doc ran the swab over his side.

"I feel nothing…." He yawned.

"I should have known." The Doc noted. The swab found itself airborne at the Doc's behest, resounding in a sturdy plop in the trash bin at bedside. "The blades in your head must have nicked the hindbrain, or something close."

"Can't you yank them out?" he moaned.

"Sorry, Major Drazen," the scalpel glared at him in the light a second time as latex fingers carried it off the table, "I can't. Our x-ray machine's due here -Yom Chamishi-, and until I find out what exactly is in your noggin, there's nothing I can do."

"Inside?" He sulked. "What do you mean exactly? I got brain matter, some blood vessels, and some fucking steel!"

"Diagnosis noted, Major Drazen." The Doc replied. "You did happen to grab your x-rays from Na Homolice during your stay, did you not?"

"Nope." He fixed his eyes on the dark blackness above, between the bright halogens as the sharp glint of steel fell upon him. "Had to leave abruptly, if you recall."

"Yep--!"

"OOO!!" his eyes nearly popped out of his head as he felt that steel invade him harshly. His abs yanked him up reflexively, his arm in the lead for the latex hand intuitively as he felt that malignant lump jiggle. "SHI…!"

The Doc let the steel go, letting it jut out of him like it were an extension of his own body, jiggling--stirring the oozing crimson with every cringe. The man capped his spotted red hand atop his crown, forcing him back down.

"I FELT that…!" he growled.

"Easy, Major…" the Doc said soothingly, "just pick a spot on the ceiling and stare at it. I got to dig this bullet out. It's in here pretty solidly."

"Right…." he nodded.

"So Major," the man said, "you care to tell me what happened back there?"

"Excuse me…?" he put a kink in his brow weakly.

"Don't feel like you have to, Sir." The man shrugged, his shoulder jerking as much as the steel in his belly. "I'm just curious."

"Need I remind you that I hold the rank of Major, and that I'm the commandant of the Organ Grinder?" He replied. "If you want the story, go talk to Lieutenant Bonnet after I meet with him."

"Of course, Sir." The Doc nodded.

"Speaking of which," he blinked, "have you seen the good Lieutenant around lately?"

"Can't say that I have, Major."

"After we're finished, send him to my quarters if you see him around." He said. "I need to brief him on where we stand. Send Galil if you see him as well."

"And may I inquire what you plan to do with those… -shikse---as you've put it?"

"Do what we always do with fresh meat." He yawned. "Give them to Galil. Draw them, quarter them, and do whatever my little brother wishes. I'm sure they'll make a nice midnight snack or something. And get me some more scopolamine while you're at it."

"Yes sir." He nodded. "And I'm almost there…!"

The steel glinted sharply at him when the Doc thankfully yanked it out, its glare bloody red as his crimson trailed down its length. The clatter as it dropped onto the table was music to his tired ears. Something else scraped the table--and the good Doc lifted up a pair of tweezers, its glint as fleeting as its presence as it dropped to his flesh.

"Oh…!" he yelped as they yanked the incision far apart. The malignancy wiggled strangely inside him, rolling and turning, slowly lifting up inside him, surfacing like a submarine.

"Almost--!" the doctor said--and with a hollow huff, the tweezers arced out of his body, the copper glinting as hotly as the scalpel, shining like that slick white hair and those thin, brass frames that traced his sockets. "There! It's out."

"Goody…!" he sighed. "Can I go now?"

"Not just yet." The doctor said. The metallic tumor made a rattle as the tweezers pushed those latex fingers apart, clattering in the bottom of the nearby bin. "You need bandaging."

"Just get some duct tape, for crying out loud!" He quipped. "It's nature's band-aid, you know, and I got shit to do."

"As you wish, Major Drazen." The Doc sighed. "You're the boss. I'm just the measly doctor who took time out of his busy schedule to dig a bullet out--!"

"Damn right, I'm the boss!" He frowned. "Just tape me up, and ship me out. You were with an HMO, it shouldn't be too much skin off your nose."

"You have no idea, Sir…." The Doc sighed cryptically.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" he said.

"Nothing, Sir." The Doc graced him with his scrubby blue backside as he walked away. "I'll get the tape. When you leave, go straight to your room and relax. You'll need rest."

"Fine with me." He nodded. "And should I call you in the morning too?"

"But of course, Major Drazen." The good Doc replied.

"I should have known…." He shrugged.

His abs yanked him up flawlessly as though they had not came directly out of an operation. Crimson filled in the creases of his flesh's making, its twinkle shifting moderately as it continued to ooze. It pooled deeply in one of the folds, particularly between his lowest pair of muscles and his groin.

The doctor was busy fiddling at the table no more than a meter away, his cumbersome obsession hidden by the average build of his blue swathed back. That haunting familiarity swept over him again, his heart jumping at that ghostly touch. Why though, and why now of all times?

"Mind if I ask you a question, Doc?" it came out more like a statement.

"Shoot." The Doc said--and a screeching rip poked his ears as the man yanked at a thick roll of gray.

"Have I seen you before," he asked, "ever? Something about you rings a bell in me, but I can't put my finger on it. Like a… second sight, you know?"

"I have that feeling plenty of times, Major." The gray flail floated down, just before those blue shoulders twitched, letting out a sharp rip seemingly. The man spun on his heels, his latex hands pulling a smallish piece of tape tautly as he approached. "But I can't say that we've met before, I'm sorry."

"Hmm…" was all his throat could muster.

"Maybe in a past life or something." The Doc shrugged. Uzi let his opposite side collapse as that strip neared him, stretching the bloody flesh as tensely as the elasticity would allow. The strip rolled on him smoothly by the Doc's gentle touch, a latex hand smoothing out the wrinkles as the other laid it on with practiced ease. "But that's hardly even a long shot. Just relax for the afternoon. I'll have someone haul Galil's snack for you, and even help round up the little fox loose in our henhouse."

"Thanks…." He let gravity's center pull him back upright. "What would I do without you?"

"Not a whole lot, I guess." The man shrugged. "Now, off to your room with you. Doc here's got a lot on his plate."

"Don't have to tell me twice." He nodded.

"Good," he smirked, "I won't. Now go."

"Uh… Doc?"

"Yes Major?"

"You… just--did." He sniggered. The Doc's gray eyes rolled behind those thin lenses. "Can you say irony…?"

"Oh, Major, grow up!"


	27. Chapter 27

I'm--BACK...!! For all of those who were wondering if I fell off the face of the earth, never to be seen again, I'm still here! YAY!! To celebrate my return after a lengthy move and about a month without Internet, have a chapter on me!

---

27

"Ah…" Kim breathed haggardly, "finally!"

The chilled air of the locker room was a welcome touch on her clammy skin. The trip was like something out of a bad cartoon, as though trapped in one of those impossible figure drawings. Time was running out, her hour mostly spent running through doors on one side of the hall, only to stumble through the doors on the opposite wall. It was madness!

"Oh… thank you!" Junior stumbled in after, practically tripping over his sore feet. "Thank you, whomever--is--hovering--uselessly--in--the--clouds--right--now! That was nuts out there…."

"Tell me about it." She replied dismissively, turning for him briefly. The broad beefcake leaned against the doorframe pathetically, his huge chest heaving for precious air as his brow glistened in the light.

"I don't think I have to tell you, Blue Fox…." Junior panted. "We just came out of that carnival house, after all. Who designed this place anyway--?"

"I'd say M.C. Escher," she quipped quickly, "but that would be an insult to him."

"I have no clue to whom you are referring to," Junior shrugged weakly, "but whatever you say, my Blue Fox. But may I enquire what we're doing here anyway?"

"Looking for my stuff!" she shook her head as she turned it back around, eyeing that long locker row with scrutiny. "And my ticket out of here, if they hadn't confiscated it yet…."

"A ticket?" Junior said, as though metaphors were such a brand new concept. She let her eyes take a welcome roll, her sigh a flat grumble. "What kind of ticket? Like for a plane, or a Peter Puff-Puff Choo-Choo Train?"

"I wasn't speaking--!" she spun around on a tense heel, clenching her fists, rearing her shoulders up, madder than a cat in a whirlpool. Junior took a hearty step back, his dark eyes wide, his teeth in a frightened clench. She'd have to give the good Senor Senior credit. How his old man kept a straight face, kept his cane firmly planted in the ground around this bungling oaf was beyond her. "You know what I--!"

"You are going to smash something--?" the beefcake squeaked pitifully, his empty head shielded by the bulk of his meaty limbs. "Like that pale, green woman?"

It took all she had not to let her knuckles crack upside Junior's greasy head. In fact, she had to yank her hand back down at her side with help of the other. All her frustrations, she forced them all to her throat.

"GRR--!!"

Putting the curve back into her spine, she let gravity tilt her head back and she let out a curse, a curse so loud that the metal around rattled. Junior's hands clapped over his ears, his lids slamming shut over his wincing eyes. If glass were around, it surely would have shattered. And so horribly forgettable that she forgot even what she was screaming.

Her voice became an uncontrollable decrescendo, her lungs squeezed of air, her lips meeting each other as her mouth fell shut. Her nose caught a pungent scent of chlorine and cleaners as she took in a hearty sniff of air. Junior was still squeezing his head, cringing strangely in the doorframe.

"Make… the--noise stop…!" Junior yelled.

"Junior…?" she blinked.

"Please--I--CAN'T--TAKE--MUCH--MORE!" he squealed.

"Junior…!" she said again, her finger bouncing on his chest when she poked him. His fingers hesitantly peeled off his head, eyes batting open, darting every which way as the still air blew quietly into his ears.

"What…?"

"Can we move on, Junior?" the corners of her lips drooped to a frown, her boot tapping out a fast, edgy rhythm on the floor.

"Oh--!" Junior righted himself with his elbow's push to the frame. "Of course. I've been ready to go since I arrived at this dismal place, with its welcome wagon armed to the teeth. And that Tank Man person--oh…! What a creep!"

"Indeed." She nodded. "But if we want out, I need to find my things and quickly."

"Of course!" Junior folded his arms as he strolled for the closest row of lockers. They clanged at him flatly as he gave their thin legs a light kick. "By the way you cursed, you could have brought the entire place down."

"Oh--just help me find my stuff!" she growled. "If I want a running commentary, I'll watch ESPN!"

"OH!" Junior's eyes brightened. "Like the network with those X-Games, right? I do wonder how I did in that bicycle sport… thing…."

Junior drowned in his own fleeting thoughts, dark eyes glossy and fixed to the tiles hanging overhead, overwhelmed where reason or common sense could save him. Tragic? Maybe, definitely farther down the road for the man-boy when the free ride was over, where his old man had to park it for the final time, with as much Le Goop as the sweat on his pampered brow could afford.

She sighed dismissively with a shrug in her shoulders as she angled around the beefcake's broadness. The locker room was almost as wide as it was long, about 26 rows in all. Each section was apparent as she eyed the first, in the row aptly named A as suggested by the big, black "A" painted on the side. Each section of lockers was no bigger than a common hutch, divided into four compartments, two on top and two on bottom.

What little logic the facility had just flown completely out the door as she looked over the labels. ADQ, ABX, APW, ANP. It made little sense if there was even the slightest shred of sense to be found. It surely couldn't have been alphabetical, nor was there any suggestion of order to be seen--

It hit her like a slap on the face. Everything had a pattern, she learned during her few years as a freelance agent. The label pattern was random, -desperately- random as though designed by a desperate criminal trying to cover his tracks. It was simply a faint, simply intended to stir confusion in potential escapees.

"Oh Drazen…." She mused. "Mr. Conceited surely wouldn't think anyone on the shit list wouldn't have made it this far. But when it comes to nutcases, I aim to disappoint."

"I'm sorry," Junior shook his head, "what did you say, my Blue Fox."

"I said stop calling me Blue Fox, Junior!" she frowned.

"Oh Blue Fox," he said, "why must you continue to evade fate like the plague? We are meant to be! Do not fight it; embrace it like you'd embrace a long lost lover--or Honolulu Kyle action figure! Oh--Kimberly Possible, be mine!"

She turned on her heel, disgusted, strolling towards the other end of the room in a huff.

"Blue Fox?"

"You are so flawed…!" she moaned.

The rows passed her by easily as she strolled for that 23rd row, nodding to herself as she ran over that W, emblazoned smoothly in the same jet black at the other characters. She turned on a dime--or a quarter at least as that row brushed her by. The labels hinted only the haughtiness that went into what little of their design; nothing more, just like all the others. Yet there was still another trick she could try, just one before her time slipped through her grasp.

"A." She mumbled, the tips of her fingers pressing gently onto the section by the upper-left door. Her leg arced wide, the sole of the boot pressing flatly on the tile as she shifted her weight to it, dragging the other leg with her. Her fingers bumped over the tight seems as her hand dragged them over the face of the section and onto the next.

"B." She noted aloud again….

Her legs felt as though they'd simply fall off at the hips as she sidestepped the 15th locker.

"P," she said, "finally…!"

The section took coldly to its new moniker, stonewalling it as it stood impassively on its four feet, even after she laid her fingers to its crown.

"You're glad to see me too, I see." She sarcastically noted. "Not that you have any say in the matter. Great! I'm striking up conversation with crafted sheet metal, for crying out loud! God--I got to get out of here! Let this be it--please!"

"WMD…" she hummed quietly, giving the upper left label a hearty tap before her hand swept for the right.

"WCW…" she gave the thin white paper a tap before she let gravity take her hand down a few inches.

"WND…" her fingers swept to the left after another tap.

"WKD…" her fingers tapped it--her head dragged back again by the eyes in a double take. Her index traced the angled lines barely on the thin strip, feeling the black impressions on the paper. "W--K--D…! WKD! Yes!"

Her eyes dropped to that shiny handle just below the air vents. The plate shined dully compared to that daunting, buffered chrome that ran through it and a piece of the frame, curving sharply down into the lock at both ends. It glinted sharply at her, imposing its little self between her and her things, guarding her ticket out of Hell at the behest of the Devil himself.

The combination lock was a simple one, like ones that belonged in an elementary school or even junior high. It was cylindrical, four number wheels across its center and capped with chrome at both ends. Child's play at best, it was, where even the most incumbent of delinquents had a shot at cracking it. But if the first set of numbers that clicked didn't pan out, Junior would finally have to put those biceps to actual work.

"4496?" she thought fleetingly with a bit of a shrug. "Hell--why not?"

Her thumb and index pinched the first two wheels right above the protruding zero, rolling fours right next to that red line dashed on the chrome with a twist of the wrist. Her finger then swooped underneath the bulky zero on the next wheel, jerking as something clicked underneath as she pushed it up a notch. The fourth zero graced the steel door behind with a tap, jacking the lock at her as she rolled it to six.

The pads of her fingers compressed to the impassive steel of the caps, her eyes closing when her lungs swelled with a fresh breath of air.

"Here goes nothing…." She noted.

Her muscles tensed within her limbs, straining from the peak of her biceps to the fore-knuckles, the lock tapping out on the locker the erratic panic racing in her mind. She pushed it aside somehow, her elbows arcing out before her in a jaunt. A burst of energy shot through her limbs, her fingers quivering in the wake, nearly slipping off the caps. But with a grunt, she dragged her arms down like an axe handle--

-Click-ku! -

The notched steel tore out of the lock effortlessly, the lock itself brushing off her hands as it turned itself around. It gave a final tap against the locker before it finally came to rest.

"Ha-ha…!" her fingers brushed against the soft firmness of stick man's jacket. "Close one, Drazen, but no cigar! The apple really doesn't fall far from the tree!"

The locker rattled and clunked at her as she removed the lock from the frame, letting the troublesome tool clink and clatter, skitter away from her on the floor. The metal sheet clunked again as she pulled the handle. The jet blackness of her trademark top softened her right up. The top hanged before her on a bare wire hanger, her cargo pants piled just below, folded neatly with the inseams pressed together. Her low cut boots flanked them by the inside wall.

Her palms twisted out, her fingers straight and they slipped themselves under her cargos, drawing them out of the locker like a hot pizza on a paddle. She angled her arms down 45 degrees, letting gravity unfold the legs for her. She let a hand snatch the waist, lifting the pair high, away from the filthy ground as though it were the slick, greasy cement everywhere outside.

-In pocket number one we have…. -

Her hand dipped into her pocket on the right, what would have been her left if she were wearing them. It snaked its way inside easily, another benefit of keeping her palms well moisturized. A second had only passed before the pad of her middle finger gave way to something firm, flat and thin when she got it into a pinch.

"The locator card!" her cheer was fleeting as she slipped it out. A small circuit board was coated firmly in beige plastic, one of the thinner edges impaled by tiny shafts of steel "And the battery contact…?"

Her hand had to snake in a little deeper. The battery contact and the nine-volt were still there, just as she left them, piled densely in the saggy corner. She dragged them out by the frayed wires, toes curling instantly when a small charge stabbed her sharply.

She seized the contact by the two tires, mere millimeters away from where they frayed off into opposite directions. A small flash of pure light arced between them barely as she looked over the card.

"Staying alive, I see…." She noted. "Now let's see…."

Her fingers dragged the black wire away from the red, the pinch slipping up its plastic length smoothly, twisting the frayed metal around itself into a thin… nub--for lack of better word. Her hand followed suit with the red one, twisting its metal fray into a plug.

"One for here…." She plugged the red nub into the tube far at the right, strands of copper splintering as her pinch jammed it in. The black nub had an easier time fitting itself into the tube at the far left for some reason, a reason she couldn't be assed to figure. "And one in here…!"

The card winked at her through its beige plastic, blinking rather with a little green light welded straight on the circuit board. It was working. She could see a faint streak of light at the far end of Uzi's winding maze of doom, at last. It was growing so large as though it were closing in on her, the stagnant air so fresh she could practically smell the outdoors--

--The sticky quagmire, the bog, the broken meat locker in a bayou. It smelt so foul, leaving such a stale, moldy taste in her mouth she hacked it out. Her nose burned painfully as that terrible stench swirled into her nostrils like a pair of active Roto-Rooters. Surely that burly pansy by the door couldn't have missed it.

A grave sense of puzzlement circled around her like the foul air. Junior had been unusually quiet for the past couple of minutes, for no apparent reason seemingly.

"Junior…?" she called, her body routinely dropped into a crouch as she crept to the front. "Junior…! Are you there? We're finally getting out of here! It's back to fun in the sun and womanizing, right? Or do you just shop for Le Goop all the time? Junior…? Answer me, damn it--!"

She gasped as she felt cold, hard steel dig itself into the back of her skull, a rough something--a hand probably snatching hold of the collar. A shivering chill ran down her spine as her ears twitched at the soft click of a safety lever.

"What?" that annoying, boyish voice blew into her ears. "Like this?"

"Shia…!" she growled.

"The one and only, Possible!" he sniggered. "I'm sorry you didn't win this little game of cat-and-mouse, but you win the booby prize! Once again, you have the pleasure of Galil Wilhelm Drazen as he has a night on the town on you, painting you quite literally in red."

"What have you done with Junior!?" she demanded.

"Oh," he replied jokily, "that beefcake? Don't worry, he'll be fine but not before old G teaches him a lesson on aiding and abetting the enemy. Should have paid more attention to that bite, Possible. Your bloodletting led Tank Man straight to you."

"Thought so…." She cursed, biting her lip. "I should have known! That little leech!"

"I have to agree with you on that one." He noted. "But as much as I like to compare the Major's cannibal to our favorite annelid with you, I'm afraid that work must intrude yet again and that I have a meeting to get to."

"Wow," she sneered, "I bet you'd hate to miss that!"

"Back to fun house with you!" he continued. "And boy is Eli going to have some fun! Oh--and that little locater card of yours…!"

The light at the end of the tunnel died, fading to a deep shade of the blackest black, overwhelming and devastating as she heard a sharp -snap- behind her. The nine-volt flew past her, clipping her in the ear, waving her a faint goodbye from its red and black tassels just before it clattered to a halt on the floor.

"March, Possible!" the barrel sank a little deeper into her skull as though Shia had something to prove. So not the drama, she would typically note aloud. "Now!"

"After you."

The barrel jerked on her head, slipping off completely as she snapped her body around. The curly top squeaked girlishly in sudden surprise. Her arm became like a serpent, winding itself around the boy's assaulting arm tightly, splinting it in a lock at the elbow. His other hand lifted up against her, fingers straight and flattened, swooping uselessly for her neck. It simply rolled off her other limb, recoiling back to its owner as she easily swatted it away.

Shia grunted haggardly, growling it out. The curly top jiggled like a piece of gelatin when the heel of her palm met his septum harshly, dots of crimson twinkling in the light before it arced over her head. Her reward was a kind of strangled groan when her knee caught him between his legs.

Her hand didn't need to be told twice as it swept for the bulgy pocket on her chest, watching an olive button spin through the air when she tore the flap open. A thin cylinder rolled into her hasty pinch, slipping it out effortlessly as its slim orange cap poked into her mouth. It joined the button on the floor; the long, slivery dagger unsheathed, winking at her in the bright light before it stabbed into her weak adversary.

Shia yelped like a puppy while her thumb shoved the little, mysterious tab inside him. He gained weight immediately, forcing it all on her while his locked limb fell limp. Out his mouth came a weak groan. Her limb unwrapped itself and she moved herself back, letting the curly top jiggle as its owner planted a kiss on the tile.

"Great!" She cursed with a furious shake of her head. "Now how am I going to get out of here--?"

Something growled loudly nearby. She couldn't place it, not with those snapping and buzzing sounds. Mechanical as they were, as her middle ears helped them click in her brain, she couldn't dismiss that growl itself, so deep and rumbling as though it hollered out of some undiscovered beast…!

-Oh… --crap! -

The ceiling looked much lower than what it should have been, she could make out the rough holes on the tiles, and yet the tiles below appeared far too small to be natural. Yet the sharp, stabbing pain on her back, and the lack of feeling on her soles brought it all together as the ceiling shrank exponentially. The floor tiles were expanding just the same after her body flipped over--

They were expanding way too fast while she caught a sliver of metal out of the corner of her eye, silvery, shiny metal that flattened out quickly beside her. And it pressed against her swiftly, harshly, carrying her on its hard, flat surface briefly before she floated off of it… her body sore, flattened like road-kill as she flew into the wall. Tile cracked before her, giving way to her in clumped pieces. Shards, chunks of plaster and grout broke her fall on the floor. It was like Saturday afternoon all over again.

A couple clumps and shards were pushed against the back of her neck as she made her head tilt back more. The freak of the hour sat there sadistically, its rotting flesh elevated a couple of notches higher than when she last saw it, its fleshy lip curled into itself over his grimy enamel. The red dot on its brow bled generously, trickling down the strange flesh of its face to its mandible where the stream abruptly stopped.

Clenched firmly in that menacing talon's grip was a thin shaft of metal, running from the pommel to the hilt of that long blade, the very same piece of cutlery that nearly cleaved her in two. Its thin belly scraped the tile as it circled around its thick tracks, gracing her cheek with a prickly pat by the tip. It let out a buzzing hiss.

"That's enough, Mr. Drazen." The boots' clicking on the floor was a gentle crescendo, yet so mild that they could barely be heard over that familiar voice. "I think she learned her lesson. She's no use to us dead… yet, anyway."

She wanted to curse; she wanted to scream but she couldn't. The burning pain torched her body badly; it hurt just to twitch. All her tight throat could let out was a stressed groan.

"But I must say, Mr. Drazen." A head loomed over her, that disgusting two-faced man gazed at her blankly, impassively. Her side burned angrily as she felt a boot toe at her ribs. "You sure do know how to catch them and reel them in."

Tank Man let out another hiss.

"Oh--that's right!" the scarred man looked up at the stinky creature briefly before he let his eyes drop. "You don't heed the words coming out of my mouth, do you?"

The bony, overgrown leech hissed again.

"I thought so." He shrugged. "But I have a feeling you do understand somewhat, after the much time you spent down here, hanging out with the Major and Eli in the comfort of your own dank, little fun house! Galil Wilhelm Drazen: Mr. Organ Grinder himself who's scared of a little sunshine. Must have been fun back in the Czech Republic and Serbia. No AC needed!"

The actuators attached to its face pushed that metal mandible open, reddish drool oozing out the corners.

"And no," scarred man carried on needlessly, "you can't eat her, not yet. Your brother isn't through with her yet."

The actuators pulled its mandible shut.

"Scarred man--!" she groaned out.

"Ah… well if isn't 4496?" he replied. "Tank Man hadn't broken your jaw after all. Though I bet he broke some other things."

"What did you do with Junior--?" she cringed when the scarred sergeant toed her ribs again. "-Ah--! -"

"Why don't you ask him yourself, '96?" a faint smirk tugged as his lips, growing seemingly as he leaned it into her face. Her hair felt as though it would rip off her scalp in the size of carpet samples as the scarred man seized it by a tuft, dragging her head up with it. "He's right where you left him, in the open and defenseless."

Her eyes managed to regain clarity just after the pain burned through. The brainless beefcake stood pitifully, his head hanging from his neck shamefully as his old man stood beside him strongly, tapping his cane irritably.

"I'm sorry, my Blue Fox…!" Junior shook his head weakly. "But these people have very persuasive methods of operation--!"

"Junior…!" his old man growled sternly. "The less you say now, the better. And what have I told you about wooing an arch foe?"

"-Huh…. -" Junior sighed. "It is spitting upon traditional villainy which my dear old father adheres to the most. Blah, blah, blah…!"

"Don't 'blah, blah' me, young man!" Senior's stubby fingers pinched around his son's closest earlobe. "After your little stunt, aiding and abetting the enemy, I have half the mind to leave you here!"

"Listen to your father on this one, Junior!" the scarred man interjected. "Your infatuation with this little fox of yours is strong, I give you that. But do you truly wish to share her fate? It makes no difference to us, but I'm sure Tank Man here could use another playmate!"

A gentle whirr hummed throughout the room, filling at least the side she laid upon, and the freak's tracks rolled it closer to her. Her skin was never too sore to crawl away as the freak's strange eyes leered at her greedily, hungrily, snapping at her with a quick bite to the air before her. Its tracks rolled it slowly to a halt, just short of the A row of lockers. Its monstrous, cumbersome talon grabbed the lockers by the corner, twisting the metal as they closed around it. It shivered… delightfully--and she cringed strongly at the sharp screeching it made.

Junior's handsome boyishness was gone, drained from his face as he blushed a sickly tone of white. His old man even was drained of color as the freak poked his head around the warped corner, hissing and growling monstrously at them. Junior squeaked as its mandible dropped from its head, barely humming "shalom"--as the good Lord was her witness, that freak said "shalom"! Ironic, it was.

"See?" Scarred man said, pointing to the freak. "You do understand the words coming out of me! Now if we can get you to learn actual Hebrew, or even English for that matter, we can put you to some actual good use!"

The freak cocked its head like that of a dog.

"Sergeant Jude," Senor Senior interjected, "as much as it has been fun in Major Drazen's grotto of doom, I'm afraid my son and I must be getting back to our island. We need to spend some more… -quality- time together, I'm afraid."

"Uh--oh…!" the sergeant said mockingly. "Someone's going to get busted!"

"Have you not paid attention, Sergeant Jude?" Senior replied. The whites of Junior's eyes grew as his old man's fingers closed around his earlobe. "Someone's already had! But who am I to say? I am but a--"

"A humble multibillionaire!" Jude replied strongly, folding his arms. "We know!"

"But of course!" the old man's lips dropped into a frown just before he nodded. "Come on, Junior. Let's go home!"

"But father--!" Junior's feeble protest was halted before it even began.

"Back to the lair with you!" Senior tapped his cane strongly. "Tradition dictates that we must leave our foe to expire at the hands of underlings--!"

"I'll be sure to give the good Major your regards, Senor Senior." The scarred man replied with a sneering frown of his own.

"Would you be so kind?" the old man said as he walked out of the room, dragging his poor son with him. "Now--quit dragging your feet, Junior! We have a plane to catch!"

"But father--!"

"Don't 'but' me!" Senior grew fainter by the second. "Or yours will be out of commission for a week!"

---

Break time came upon Tara like a nice, warm shower. Her man was right, it felt like a whole hour slipped away during training in the makeshift -Dojang- though the clock hands motioned only that of 20 minutes at best. She didn't care; her knees burned sorely and the soft, buoyant cushion on Robin's couch was more than welcome on her hot derriere.

"Don't sweat on the couch now!" Ron said. He and his odd little pet were getting acquainted with Robin's fridge, getting to know that large block of goat cheese intimately. "No one likes to sit on clammy textiles!"

"Oh--shut up, Ron!" she moaned, glancing over at that kitchenette. The cheese was devoured halfway, from the outside in. Rufus, everybody's favorite African rodent, was missing in action. "Not like you're the one out there, working your butt off in the desert sun wearing black!"

"Actually, Tara--" Ron replied rudely after he shoveled a cheesy chunk into his mouth. "I was the one out there a while ago… in a free spar--with Yune. He thought my proficiency was great…! But he's a little concerned about you, T."

"He is…?" she sat up.

"Yeah…." The blond swallowed. "-Ah…! - Much better! Anyway, he told me 'bout your sessions back at Middleton High. While he said you were coming along nicely, he also said you lose focus easily."

"Right…!" she nodded soberly. "He did say that…!"

"Yeah," the blond replied, "I just said that."

"You know what I mean, Ron!" she rolled her eyes.

"But do you know why, T?" her man said. Her rump shifted on the couch, her heart jumping as that hunky Asian strolled in coolly, despite the way the natural light glistened off his clammy brow. It wasn't clammy as before as he drew the back of his hand across his crown.

"You love me?" she asked.

"Exactly!" he nodded. "Tara, I hope you understand why I'm a little harder on you than I am on Ron."

"I think I understand, Yune." She nodded. "You don't want to see me hurt."

"And worse!" his small bangs waved at her in the midst of a nod. "Tara, as much as I don't want to, there may come a time where I might have to drag you into a battlefield. And I want you ready for anything that might and that will come up. Understand?"

"Of course." She pushed herself to her feet. "I wouldn't be a very good girlfriend if I didn't try to. But why so tenacious, Yune?"

Yune shook his head just before he let gravity pull it down. His knuckles rolled, fingers taking turns to roll into themselves.

"That's… not a happy topic for me, Tara." He said bluntly.

"Oh, really…?" she reared herself away. She had struck a cord, and the cord still had a little sound to resonate.

"Best if you left it at that." His dark eyes glistened at her. Her heart twitched at the sobering sight. "For now, at least. Until I'm ready, okay?"

"Yes…." She nodded apprehensively. "Of course, Yune. But even if you know next to nothing about me, Yune, I want you to know one thing."

"Uh-huh?" he nodded.

"I don't want to be just your girlfriend." She said. "I also want to be your best friend too, one where you're not afraid to talk to."

"I thought so." He smiled weakly. "And you already are, Tara."

"Thanks, Yune…!" She smiled brilliantly.

As if someone far above had planned it, tugged at the necessary strings precisely, Mozart began to play one of his recognizable pieces on an outdated synthesizer. Tragic really, the MIDI didn't do the enigmatic Elise justice at all.

"He-Huh--phone…!" Rufus squeaked. She turned for the kitchenette while Yune showed her his backside, following that screeching melody to its Swedish source. The little rodent poked its head out from the crumbling dairy product, its buckteeth picking at the cheese as it tried to climber its way out. "Oh… cheese!"

"It's the meaning of life!" Ron nodded--blinking perplexedly.

"Huh?" she put a kink in her brow.

"No idea why I said that!" the blond shrugged.

"Does that happen a lot?" she smirked.

"Oh--come off it, T!" he frowned.

"-Yeah…! -" His little buddy threw in its two cents.

---

"Yell-o!" Yune pressed the phone to his cheek as soon as his thumb nicked the green phone button. It had better not have been another wrong number; he was in no mood for it today. "Bin-Mok's Laundry: less starch per stiff!"

"Humor…!" the tanned Barbie replied flatly. "Amusing…!"

"If it isn't everybody's favorite woman of the hour." He continued. "Come to grace us with more bad news, is it? Or maybe she's going to spill the whole damn jar of beans on us, and tell us what the hell's really going on!"

"Good to speak with you too, Mr. Bin-Mok!" Hershel retorted sarcastically. "I already told you what was going on behind the scenes, if I recall."

"If life with the Drazen family taught me anything, Ms. Hershel," he said, "that appearances can be deceiving. There's the spoken truth, and then there's the real truth! And I'm getting the feeling that there's still something you haven't told us about!"

"All will be revealed in due time, Bin Mok!" the woman snapped. "Are you even on a secure line?"

"Does it really matter?" he asked.

"Reports are coming in, Yune." She said. "The military picked up a weak signal somewhere south, a little north of the Egyptian border. Given the signal's strength and specific algorithms, we think it might be our broken arrow."

"Or even Kim!" he blinked, batting his eyes.

"Yes, it's possible." She noted. "But I'm not holding my breath on it."

"Possible, huh?" he smirked. "Remember Hershel, anything's possible for a Possible."

"That sounds conceited." She quipped.

"And yet how true it is…." He said.

"That's up for debate."

"Have you got a location?"

"Negative." She said. "The signal was weak, and it dropped off our frequency scanners before we even had a chance to triangulate. All we know is that it came from around the southern border, close to the Red Sea."

"That's a pretty big area, you know." He folded his free arm behind his back. "Any possibility you could narrow it down?"

"Negative."

"Goody…."

"If that really was Kim, I'm sure she'll find another way to signal us."

"So what the heck do we do then?"

"Just sit tight."

"You know, if you take away the minutia and the bureaucracy of it all," he frowned, "do you realize how asinine that sounds, with a neutron bomb listed as MUF?"

"I know." She replied. "But until something new develops, I trust that you can manage by yourselves."

"We'll lay low till you guys can pull your head out of your collective ass." He retorted. "If it takes longer than a day or couple days, we're moving ahead regardless."

"That won't help you, us, or even Ms. Possible!" She snapped. "I don't have to send a few people, do I?"

"Don't worry, Hershel." Yune clenched the phone irritably. "We'll be good little children."

"Glad to hear it." She said strongly. "Go take a nap or something. We'll talk later."

There was a clatter at the other end; silence trailed behind it steadily. He didn't need to be told twice as he thumbed the button, painted with a red phone. The rumbled it made when it fell back into his duffel couldn't overwhelm the disgust, thick in his sigh. Kimberly was stuck in palm of Uzziel's bloody hand; a nasty WMD might as well have been thrown blindly into the wind, and still the Barbie shoved his hands under his own ass.

He shook it off with a shake of his head. He chuckled bitterly.

"Could this trip go any better…?"


	28. Chapter 28

28

"Hello?" Tara spoke before the receiver even had a chance to press against her chin. No later when Yune was hot on the trail for Mozart had the house phone began to blare a strange pulsating bleat. Ron couldn't be nudged to move an inch from his hunch, wouldn't dare abandon that mess pile of dairy chunks to his naked pet. "Ata residence. Ms. Robin can't come to the phone right now. May I take a message?"

"Ah…!" The woman in question replied. "Making yourself right at home, as I hear."

"Robin!" She grinned.

"Yes friend, that is I." The woman said. "How, may I ask, are you and your friends doing?"

"We're fine, Robin." She said. "We're sitting on our hands, but we're fine. Yune's getting a little uppity though, and I'm afraid to say that Ron and his pet rat just ate that block of cheese in the fridge."

"That is okay, Tara." Robin replied. "I said you could make yourself at home, after all. I will just have to pick up another wheel from the store on my way home."

"How're you getting home anyway?" she asked. "Isn't Sadie still in the shop?"

"Ah yes!" Robin exclaimed gently. "I remember now! I almost had forgotten why I called a few minutes ago. I just got a call back from my brother, Josh. He had been working on your SUV since I brought it to him this morning."

"Really?" the buoyant cushiness of the soft couch was more than welcome on her rump. Her legs locked at the knees, the couch's back slipped up against her own, and her butt met the thick trim of the cushion as she slouched. "How does she look? Can she still roll?"

"That is the good part." Robin continued. "There was not as much damage to the physical vehicle as you had thought. She needed a new set of tires, some of these huge spring things for each wheel, a new front grill, new radiator device, and a new windshield amongst other things. The good Lord smiled upon you friends! Those parts I had mentioned were delivered to Joshua well before I had the pleasure of meeting you."

"Really--?" she felt that strange tingle inch its way down her spine, giving the nerves in her limbs a teasing pluck. "-Whoa…! -"

"Indeed, my friend." The Ethiopian continued. "But that is not even the strange part, as you might say. When I had asked him about those parts he ordered, he had said he simply had been -moved- to order them. I was wondering when they would come in handy too."

"Yeah…." She cringed as that chill tingled through her body, gone as quick as it had come. "But what about the bad part?"

"Do not worry, Tara," Robin said, "I know about Sadie and how she can converse like us with her advanced electronic devices and whatnot. But as she is, I don't think she will be conversing with us anytime soon. They basically were 'fried', and Josh might have cut some wires that he should not have. Sadie is basically no better than an average sport utility vehicle now. I suggest you take her to a specialist, but be grateful that her cigarette lighter still works!"

"But I don't smoke." She shrugged. "None of us do."

"Neither do I." Robin replied. "In fact, I have no idea why I even said it."

"That seems to happen a lot today." She smirked.

"Hey!" Ron unrolled from his hunch in a snap, his back stiffer than a two-by-four, eyes frowning as much as his mouth. "I resent that!"

"Huh--!" his rodent squeaked. "Me… TOO!"

"What was that?" Robin asked.

"Oh nothing." She dismissed.

"Hey!" Ronald exclaimed.

"Is for horses, Ron." The receiver pressed against her chest while she giggled. "Now do you mind? I'm trying to have a conversation here!"

The blond simply curled back into his hunch, a stupid frown stretched across his face. His hand slapped his face while he shoveled another chunk of cheese into his mouth. The pink, twitching blob on the crumbed pile frowned at her--or at least tried to frown. It was hard to tell with those two buckteeth fused on his lips rather than behind them.

"There is one last thing I would like to mention before I have to get back to work." Robin said it longer than what she needed. Her Shia hadn't graced her with the beauty of contractions just yet, apparently. "If I am on the phone any longer, my boss would not be pleased with me."

"Where do you work anyway?" she asked simply.

"I work at a bar named Zanzibar." The dark girl replied. "It is a bar for patrons with insomnia--night owls, as you might call them. It opens pretty late in the night. Do not get me wrong, Tara. I come home long before it opens. I am just as a clerk, one who takes inventory and is there to meet deliveries."

"But what about your brother?"

"He takes over when I leave." Robin replied. "During the day, he usually fiddles around with cars. He even fixed my Peugeot when it was having a problem. He fiddled and fiddled around with stuff that I cannot even begin to explain. But in the end, he had got it to work."

"Ah, I see." She nodded. "But didn't you tell me last night your friend was good with cars?"

"My brother Joshua is my friend, Tara." Robin said. "Can you not see? Simply because we are brother and sister does not mean we cannot be friends as well. In fact, I cannot imagine life with him growing up if we were constantly at each other's throats."

"Oh--I see now." She nodded again. "But what did you want to tell me?"

"Right." Robin said. "Regardless of what his mad employer--commanding officer--whatever my dearest names him, he is coming up to Jerusalem tonight."

"What for?" she asked.

"Tonight is his night with the klezmer." Robin said. If she wasn't already awake, her heart jumped, quickening its throbbing beats so quickly that she couldn't get past it. -Shia- was coming home for the night; Shia was -coming- home for the night, Shia was coming -home-…. "It has been that way since the klezmer formed. He will be here at my place of work right about when we open, and he will come home with me about a couple of hours later. I suggest you keep out of sight till morning."

"Will do." She nodded. "You have my word, at least."

"That is great." Robin replied. "But I must be going now or the latest delivery will overwhelm me."

"Of course." Tara said. "I won't keep you any longer. Hop to it."

The girl on the other end giggled. "Do not worry, I will. Till next time, take good care of yourselves, friends."

She smiled gently, weakly. "We will. Goodbye, Robin."

"Bye--"

There was a sudden click at the other end, her cue to lay the handset back atop those two metal slivers on its cradle. A flat beep bleated at her briefly while the handset rattled gentle, nestling itself back into its molded bed yet she paid it no mind. There were more important things to fuss over.

"Who was that?" Her man called from the bedroom.

"Robin." She replied.

"Really now?" Yune revealed himself smoothly from out the doorway as always. In his mending limb, his weak clutch carried his gun and a shaft of metal. The shaft was thick, no fatter than the slide of his Daewoo, bored out through the middle. The hole couldn't have been bigger than 10 millimeters. In the strong grip on the other limb carried a few magazines. "What'd she want?"

"Just calling to check in." She said. "She also said that Shia's coming up to the city late tonight for a band meeting. He's staying the night here, Yune!"

"I figured as much, T." He nodded as he strolled for the smaller case lying carelessly on the floor. His legs crossed at the ankles. His butt angled up as his knees buckled folding in on themselves in a tailor position. The magazines tapped and clattered against each other as he let gravity take them from his grip.

"Oh--you figured as much, huh?" Ron shot up from his crumbed meal, standing straight as though he meant something intimidating. "Has it occurred to you that we have no place to hide out? We're no use to Kim dead, you know!"

"I know that, Ron." Yune looked at him gently.

The small case let out a flat snap by the latches before he flipped the lid up and away from its bottom. The box he took out rattled like a small maraca, ceasing its strange rattle as he set it on the floor beside him. Thick paper scraped against each other as he thumbed the thinner side of the box, almost ripping as his thumb eased the flap out harshly. Out from the box came that strange rattle, brass slugs mooned at him as he slipped out the plastic honeycomb.

"That's why we're taking the offensive." A cartridge glared harshly in the light as he pulled it out from the honeycomb. A magazine slipped back into his grip easily, its spring creaked uneasily as he popped the bullet inside. "Today or tonight. We can't wait any longer."

"Did you get the go-ahead, Yune?" she asked.

"Nope." He shook his head. "We're moving in tonight without Hershel's consent."

"WHAT!?"

"You heard me, Tara." He gazed at her gravely just after he loaded his third bullet. "We're moving in tonight."

"But Hershel said--!"

"We don't have much of an option here, Tara." Ron interjected. "Hershel seems content having us sit on our butts while KP's life slips away a little more every minute. We need to take the initiative, Tara, and fast!"

"Exactly." Her man nodded. "Whether or not something comes up today, we still got to get Shia's… -thoughts- on the situation."

"I can't think of anyone better, myself." Ron made a fist with one hand, driving it into the palm of the other, twisting at the wrist, grinding the knuckles threateningly… at least, that's what she thought the blond was doing. His rodent buddy was quick to mimic his owner.

"Yeah…!" Rufus growled… cutely.

"Ron, you're about as threatening as a cuddle-buddy." She grinned widely. "And your pet's as scary as the Chia Pet I got back home."

"Ease off, T." Yune rolled his dark eyes. "You got a little work to do."

"I do?" she blinked.

"Yes." Yune nodded. The closest hand of his patted the carpet invitingly. "Take a seat."

Her knees bent gently, her forelegs angling over her ankles severely before her kneecaps touched the carpet. Yune dove his fingers into the case, prying between the foam padding and the pistol's grip. He slipped it out easily--and she felt her breasts shrink awkwardly, touchily as he pushed the gun into her chest.

"Oh!" She yipped.

"Sorry 'bout that, T." Yune couldn't be bothered to look at her straight. She guessed screwing that thick tube onto the muzzle of his Daewoo took too much of an effort. "But here's your little assignment."

"So I guessed." Her quip left a bittersweet aftertaste in her mouth. "What do I do now…?"

"Load her up, T." Her man said simply.

"But I never--"

"And that's the point of this little exercise." Her man nodded to himself confidently, a hint of a smirk on his straight face. "Today you will become a man…! Or rather--a woman, T."

"Is this one of those Korean things?" She frowned weakly. Though he was plucking at her nerves frequently today, she couldn't bother herself to stay miffed. It was hard to stay mad at the one she loved, that was true. "Or are you being -cute- in your own spicy way again?"

"I mean you no offense, Tara." He smiled cutely. "I don't want to anger my little German princess with my spicy hotness, now do I--?"

He yelped astonishingly, chuckling a little after the butt of her gun bounced off his bicep.

"I'm NOT--!"

"You're Austrian, not German." Ron moaned. "We know…."

"Uh… huh!" his buddy seconded jadedly.

"But does it have to be such a knee-jerk reaction with you?" Her man shrugged. "And why do you always got to hit me? That's borderline spousal abuse, you know! I swear, you can be a grumpy old cat sometimes."

"Okay…!" she dropped her eyes down to her gun. Metal scraped against together as she thumbed the release button, the magazine bouncing off her leg weakly, and belly flopping onto the carpet before her. "Okay! I'm not going to say anything anymore, since no one's listening to me! When the gloves come off again, I don't want to hear any complaints!"

"Yes G--!"

Yune finally got the message, she thought, noting it mentally anyway, when she reared the gun next her ear by the barrel.

"Don't say it!"

"Yes ma'am." He sighed back.

"Good boy!" she smiled.

"Now with that set aside," Her man loomed over the case briefly, a hand grabbing a box of ammo different from the one that sat open beside him, "Tara?"

"Yeah?"

Yune reply came when he took her hand gently, and easily placed the maroon box into her hand. Fiocchi, it was emblazoned in white in all caps. Flanking the picture of the thick bullet, it read .40S&W. Below the picture, emblazoned in the same white was the number 50 next to some gibberish.

"Get to work, Australian Queen." He closed her fingers around it.

She growled loudly, a strained crescendo as though it came from a demon roaming the Irish countryside hauntingly. She couldn't help the tick that came about in her eye. Why was this simple thing such a stumbling block; she couldn't begin to figure out. She even screamed.

"AUSTRIAN--DAMN IT!"

---

His father would have been proud of him. Old man Drazen gazed back at him rather pleased today, content with the hard work his son had accomplished. Solomon Rex was completed, the West Bank stuck in his unbreakable stranglehold, and little wench Possible had been put in her place; not the place he would have picked for the Mick, but it was good enough for now. He could have sworn the oiled brow had a definite perk on it.

"Do you see, Daddy?" He mumbled just after a swig of scopolamine, lips curling into a simple sneer just as the brim left his lips. "Do you understand now…? I'm a big boy now. I can make this fake nation beside me tremble at the mere mention of my title…. I can crush them at any time I want!"

Belatedly, he pointed to a map in front of him.

"I just… don't need you anymore, Papa." He blinked. "I'm on my own now…! You just… go away now! And don't you worry 'bout G now. I'll take good care of him. Not that you ever cared anyway. Now go away! Go shave Satan's back or something."

The portrait replied quietly, just as he expected. Stupid oil painting; how dare that canvas mocked him! Nothing could get past Major Uzziel Drazen of the Victims' Separatist Army. Fortunately for itself, it was a rare oil portrait he dug out of Dad's old estate just before the government auctioned it off to some degenerating little shit. It was the only thing left he had of him, and why he kept it? The answer always escaped him at the moment every time. Maybe it himself at his most masochistic; he didn't know.

"Cheers, you dead bag of shit!" he said drunkenly as he took in another mouth full of medicine. The desk drawer clattered loudly as he opened it, the small painting jammed at an angle in the drawer. He could care less as he pushed it back into the desk.

"Oh--UZI!" an accent of his mother language buzzed in his ears irritatingly with a crisp crackle of static. He angled his head over his shoulder woozily. Galil stood--err---sat- beside him as his tracks rolled him closer. "You CALLED…?"

"Yes G…." He yawned as his tongue converted back to that of its mother. "I did."

"What's up, Uzi?" Galil replied eagerly. "Did you finally get sick of the Mick? Does that mean I finally get to enjoy my meal--DOES IT--huh--huh--huh? DOES IT NOW!? Don't keep your brother waiting!"

"No G." He let the shards stuck in his head drag it down to the tabletop easily. "Oh…. Not yet, anyway. But I do have a couple things I'd like you to… -dispose- of--in your own -special- manner."

"Really?" Galil's orbs brightened.

"Yeah." He nodded awkwardly. "A couple new recruits who got a little too uppity. Had to put them down--for the good of the organization…! Think of them as your little snack."

"Oh--GOODY!" He clenched his claw tightly; metal rattling against each other while the limb trembled with such an unrestrained glee. "You know--there's this new jerk marinade I just got, and I've been waiting to try it out!"

"Right back at you." He sighed. "The doc's having them brought to your little fun house of horrors as we speak. You should find them near Possible, rotting slowly in their olive wrappers. It's a perfect opportunity to freak her out some more."

"Oh--I don't know about that, Uzi." Galil blinked. "I think she's plenty unnerved! You should have seen that surprised look on her face--those broken eyes… it was PRICELESS! I could have sworn she would have cried if Damocles didn't smack her into the wall! Boy--can that Mick bounce! She's like a little bouncy-ball--and I CAN'T WAIT till her next attempt! BOINGY--BOINGY--BOINGY--BOINGY!!"

"G," he batted his eyes weakly, "you never fail to entertain me. You'll forgive me if I don't bounce like a campy cartoon character. The Goliath in me is bout to topple over, you know."

"This is the part where David comes along and chops off his head!" G noted aloud.

"Just about." He nodded. "And that fucking Mick won't have a say in it, for if my name isn't mud!"

"What you saying, Bro?"

"I know you're looking forward to slapping her around like a busted toy, I know." He mumbled tiredly. "And I hate to burst your bubble, but I'm afraid I don't have much of a choice right now."

"Just SPIT IT OUT!" G growled impatiently. Galil Wilhelm Drazen was certainly a chore. Calling G overzealous would be the understatement of the year; he was so goddamn impatient and thickheaded inside-and-out. No wonder Dad had little favor with him, practically despised him, a bitter taste stained in the old man's mouth every time he had to speak to him.

"Calm down, Tank Man." He let his eyes roll habitually. "I'm getting to it."

The floor shrieked sharply as Tank Man simply let gravity -ease- his claw down. His foul, rotting stench huffed at him snootily in a hiss from the offending tailpipe, just after the combustion engine let him know what it thought with a loud popping backfire.

"Did you just soil yourself?" he frowned.

G's strange lip curled into itself, baring those nasty, blackened incisors.

"Maybe…!" he said. "Shall I do an analysis?"

"Don't bother." He snorted.

"Whatever you say, Bro."

"Oh Mr. U...!" The door creaked open quietly, Shia's loud steps easily drowning out the hinges pleas for some grease. The door then knew what the good Lieutenant's position on squeaky things was when he easily slammed it back into the frame. "As much as I hate to break up this touching brother-to-brother moment… -oh… - I understand that you wanted to see me about something… or someone--take your pick. I'm in no mood to argue!"

"Can you not slam my door please?" he made his tongue twist illogically into English. He forced his neck to take up the weight of his head as he sat back up.

"Right…!" Shia made a gentle rattle, quick and brief. Slowly he let his eyes roll over to their corners. The good one caught a slice of dirty orange in Shia's hand just before it disappeared into his chest pocket. Shia's throat pulsated appropriately as ever. "Sorry 'bout that, Mr. U."

"The shit's wrong with you, Bonnet?" he asked. The good Lieutenant looked like hell, face pale and drained of the life that once was abundant in his face. Even his curly top appeared deflated of its poof. "Bad nap?"

"You could say that…" Bonnet blinked, "I think. That bitch! She jammed some needle in me right when she was recaptured. Man… that was a crazy magic tab too--more like hooey--voodoo--with--crack--and--shit…! Oh man…!"

"Yes." He yawned. "Eli actually stopped and laced his drugs with excrement!"

"You know what I mean, Mr. U…!" Blinking sense back in through the flattened curly top wasn't as effective as the lieutenant thought. "Didn't you call me for something?"

"Yeah…." He moaned. "Two new recruits got uppity with me. I had to put them down permanently. I need you to be the PR man today regarding this little incident."

"AW--for how long…?" Bonnet whined.

"Till the men stop asking." He frowned. "What the hell is it to you?"

"Sir, my apologies if I had to break up any certain moments you two were sharing." Shia said. "And of course, I'll do this little chore of yours--provided I know what the shit happened to who, or what, and when, where, why, and how."

"Go see the doc for that." He replied. "And maybe get yourself checked out while you're at it."

"Right." Shia said. "But Mr. U, there's something I got to ask you…."

"Band practice, right?"

"Yes, as always this day of the week."

"And…?"

"Well… may I--?"

"Sure…." He rubbed his eyes. "Go right ahead. It's not like we've got a war to fight or anything!"

"Sir--I didn't mean--"

"Sure you did, boy!" he sneered. "No need to spin away from me, beat around the bush and all the good shit. Sure--go see your tone-deaf klezmer. 4496's back in custody, and Solomon Rex is as good as finished. The king needs his armaments before he can take us into battle."

"Speaking of war, Mr. U." Shia combed a shaky hand through his messy hair uselessly. "I have news about our new little toy we picked up in the Negev."

"The neutron bomb?" he batted his eyes.

"The very same!" the curly top bobbed awkwardly.

"Well," he shrugged quickly, "what, man?"

"After a thorough invasive… uh… search--thingy!" Shia had a problem with terms. It was no big secret. The underlings beneath the lad often poked at him behind his back for giggles. "We removed all the… extra stuff--the baby fat if you will--and uh… trimmed the device down to somewhat of a SADM."

"The power of the sun in a suitcase?" he said.

"Exactly!" Shia nodded. "Well--more of an assault pack, Sir."

"That's good enough for me." He nodded. "Good work, Lieutenant."

The drained boy managed to bring his boots together with a -smack- of leather, his back unrolled straight from the pitiful at-ease, and his straight fingers tapped his clammy brow at an angle. He shrugged it off with a half salute.

"Thank you, Sir."

"Go ahead, and see your woman tonight." He yawned. "But see the Doc first for a briefing. You should find him in the fun house right about now, if he hadn't left already."

"Sir!" Bonnet nodded.

"Galil was just headed back there." He said; his lips curled in a tired smirk. "Care to join him?"

It had to be the most alert Shia had been since he stumbled in his quarters. Galil angled his head oddly. "I'd… rather not, Sir."

"Oh?" He angled his head gently. "And why's that? G gives you the willies, doesn't he?"

Tank man too angled his head strangely. Maybe his little brother wasn't as poorly conversed as he had thought. Surprising, a little, but not completely unexpected; with as much as he spent in his dank little crypt, he still couldn't roll completely clear of any bilinguals.

"Does he, Shia?" He asked bluntly. "I don't understand why my little bro would though. Maybe this apprehension of yours is completely unfounded. Galil is meeker than a lamb--well, he was anyway. A freak kerosene fire will do that to a guy. Oh wait--I think I know! Do you think I know, G?"

Galil hissed back as he rolled for the good lieutenant. Shia squeaked, backing himself up a step, nearly tripping over his own shaky boots. His back thumped against the wall, flattening his body against the wall uselessly as those whirring tracks rolled his little bro closer.

"Listen…." He smirked. "He agrees! Isn't it funny, Bonnet? If you didn't get the crates switched back at Middleton airport, I have a sneaking suspicion you wouldn't be this jumpy. But I shouldn't dwell on the past, or should I? Galil, what do you think?"

Tank Man snapped his jaw at the lieutenant. Shia squeaked again.

"I think he agrees, Sir--!" Shia reared his head against the wall futilely, standing up on the balls of his boots even. Galil snapped at the boy. "EEP!"

"What are you, a puppy?"

"Yes sir--!" Galil snapped at the boy again. "Woof!"

"Hope you're housebroken, Lieutenant." He smirked. "Dare pee on my floor, you'll be cleaning it up with your tongue! Is that clear?"

"Crystal, Sir!"

"Good!" he nodded. "Now get out of here. The Doc's waiting for you."

"Yes, sir!" Shia bobbed his head like one of those exaggerated figurines, like an idiot. He made like paper, slipping out in between the rock and the hard place, fluttering in the space before him as he stumbled for the door. "You can count on me--!"

"Glad to hear it." He said. "When you leave for band practice, go buy your girl something nice."

"Yes, Mr. U!" the squeaky door stabbed at his ears. "What should I do about the Mick?"

"I'll think of something." He shrugged. "She won't be in our hair too much longer."

"Right, Sir." Shia stumbled through the door. "Do what you need to, Mr. U. Just don't keep her as a pet! I don't want to have to chase her down every time she cuts her noose loose."

"Noose?" he blinked.

"Uh--yeah…!" Shia replied, turning around swiftly, stumbling around like a sick man. "-Oh…! - Well--choke chain, to put it more accurately. You still want her alive, right?"

"Did she crack?" he asked. "Did she sing like the songbird of my dreams? Or is she still being a stubborn, little bitch?"

"More like the latter, Mr. U." Shia said. "We've had a sneaking suspicion that she doesn't know anything. This little stunt confirmed it, in my mind at least. Certainly, with G's eager help, she would have told us something by now."

"Don't you know, Shia?" he said. "Torture's messy, costly, and the results are often erroneous. She knows something, all right--or someone, most likely. G's helping hand probably hardened her resolve."

Shia looked dumbfounded. "Then why the hell did we even bother with torture in the first place!?"

"Why, the very same reason why my good old half brother, Tristian, did it, Shia." He shrugged. "Because it's fun. I never understood why he bothered with torture too until I toed its nasty, murky water. It's so much fun, Shia! Watching the bane of your existence squirm like a dying worm, under your thumb where she belongs. Humiliating her, depraving her, hurting her, and all the good shit you can imagine. It's really quite liberating as well! I suggest you join G sometime."

"That's okay, Sir." Just behind the good lieutenant's proverbial gills, a sickly color of green gradually blossomed. He had pondered why for about--a second. "I'll simply tend to my duties as usual."

"Are you certain, Bonnet?" He smirked. "You don't know what you're missing…!"

"I think I do know, Mr. U." the natural tones of Bonnet's skin swallowed up the green with a little twitch of his head. "I'd rather leave the sadomasochism to you guys. You two seem to enjoy it a bit more. Me, I'd rather just cap someone, clean and clear."

"Oh really?" He put a kink in his brow.

"Yes, Mr. U." Shia nodded. "It's the honest truth."

"Honest, huh?" He gazed at him cynically. "This coming from Mr. Piano-Man?"

"What?" Bonnet blinked.

"You heard me." He said. "Or should I say Mr. Piano-Wire? That sounds more apt to me, doesn't it, Bonnet?"

"Just what are you getting at, Sir." Shia pressed with a frown.

"Ah… wires." He managed to push himself to his feet, stumbling for the good lieutenant. "Isn't it such a lovely invention? With it, one can orchestrate beautiful music when the final line is screwed in along its peers. Have you ever heard an Irish Harp play, Bonnet? When embraced gently in skilled hands, it's really quite relaxing.

"Have you ever heard a Baby-Grand play, Shia?" He made like the vulture--or condor--whatever he saw circling in the sky outside, lurching around his prey. He could have sworn he saw that flattened curly top drop an inch, along with the rest of his head. "It can be quite invigorating. But then again, how would you know? You never heard a live performance, have you? I read your file. In fact, you actually silenced a beautiful piano back in Paris, did you not? Such a beautiful piano carved and polished out of Walnut, grinning vividly at its would-be player with ivory keys, Shia--IVORY for fuck's sake! You can't even get that anymore!

"But came that day when you sneaked into the music shop, when your rage lusted for that perfect wire. Where better than to find the perfect cord than inside the perfect piano? You carefully unscrewed one when the shopkeeper was in the back office, took out your pieces of broken dowel, and fastened an end to each piece before the shopkeeper came back.

"Then came your first target, your very first mark, a brash Muslim woman--a loudmouth, denouncing Abraham's true seed as pigs and monkeys as she walked past the storefront. You followed her professionally, smooth and controlled, even when she turned into an alley. Her back was to you, swathed in her rags and the shade. It was too good to pass up, wasn't it, Shia?"

Shia's face drained of color, his chest heaving lightly.

"And with a glinting sliver of silver arcing in the air, you struck." He carried on. "Her handbag clattered on the ground, skittering away while her hands tried to free herself of your fit. And you yanked harder--and harder. You wanted to stop, but you just couldn't. Something snapped in your mind. And next thing you know, she was on the ground before you, rags stained with street grime, blood hemorrhaging barely out her eyes. Her eyes--they looked so broken, so afraid, so pitiful… just like the rest of her kind truly is."

"Just what--are--you--saying--Major!?" Shia demanded pitifully, as though he actually had a nerve of steel to back it up.

"Elevated heart rate," he said simply, "adrenaline, -endorphins-. You won't admit it, Lieutenant Bonnet, but you enjoyed inflicting suffering. It was a thrill, wasn't it?"

"That was a long time ago, Sir!" Shia growled. "I've moved past being a thug!"

"Have you really?" He asked. "After your performance at Spaniard's island manor with Hershel, I'm not sure I believe that."

"Believe what you want, Drazen!" Shia snapped. "I'm not just your punching bag--your pin cushion--or whatever! I don't give a shit anymore; UNDERSTAND!? You're losing friends, Mr. U! Your own people are beginning to doubt you; it's spreading like wildfire! And after your little stunt on -Shabbat-, public support for the VSA has dropped to an all time low! This madness can't go on!"

"I understand completely, Bonnet." He rolled his eyes. "You're starting to sound like that little bitch I had to put down. But this 'madness', as you put it, can go on… and it will! Who knows? Maybe I'll be like a partner to you."

"Robin's already my partner!" Bonnet growled. "Whether you believe it or not, Mr. U!"

"That sounds like a borderline threat, Lieutenant…." He yawned. "A good threat, actually. Thick with unbridled passion, just like when you were back in France."

"I had--ENOUGH OF THIS SHIT!" Shia shouted. His boots scraped the carpet heatedly as he spun around irately, turning to his left just after he stormed out of his quarters. The door slammed back into his frame with a -bang-, thanks in much by the lieutenant's snatch of a grip. Not the quickest way to Galil's fun house of horror, for sure, but he was content to let Bonnet stomp out some hot steam.

"He was pissed, Bro!" Galil noted pointlessly. He shrugged, his tongue slid out a broken reply.

"G, you amaze me with your firm grip of the obvious." He said. "Now get out of here. You got a snack to catch, after all."

"And you, pray tell…?"

"Doesn't matter what I do." He said. "Do you know where the satellite phones are stored?"

"Yep--YEP!" G nodded his strange head quickly. "I do! Not too far away from my fun house, actually!"

"Good." He nodded. "Bring one, or have someone bring me one."

"What for?" G asked.

"Go have fun with your snack, G." He smirked. "I have a noose that need tightening."

"Noose?"

"Never mind that." He shrugged. "Just go."

"Yes, sir!" Galil snapped at him with his claw, G's cheeky idea of a proper salute. "You're the Major, after all…."

"Damn right!"


	29. Chapter 29

29

Work at Channel 2 could have been better for David. It wasn't the same since Saturday afternoon, and his guts twisted at the solemn feeling that it never was going to be the same ever again. It marked him deeply, scarring him till his final breath, known as the man who showed the world what a bloody loon--a borderline heretic, as he heard what the prominent rabbis say.

-To think--I actually supported the guy…. - He shook his head soberly, gravely. -He sure played us like a fiddle! -

He removed his cheek wobbled as he slipped his hand off his face. He let his index and thumb pinch at a piece of paper beside him on his desk. The guys over at the Internet, the people responsible for their website and other computer gimmicks, were kind enough to slip him a police rendering of the mysterious VSA leader. He wasn't sure if the police's source were trying to be cute or as serious as shellshock would let him… or her, for that matter.

This guy looked horrific, as though his icy madness manifested itself in his outward appearance. He couldn't be much younger or much older than 20. His once youthful face was smeared and twisted with horrid scars, stretching his strange flesh oddly around the callous eyes. The crown undulated with fleshy webbing, exposed from all its hair to that which was responsible… a few large pointy objects standing out from his baldness.

"Is this guy for real…?" he thought aloud. Maybe the boys at Internet were toying with him again; they had a habit of doing that.

"As real as you can get from a Palestinian, Dave." Said a man passing his station by leisurely. "The guy was a train wreck, shivering like a little puppy dog. Looked like he survived that big explosion yesterday."

"Apparently so!" he nodded. "Just look at this sketch! It can't be real! Who would do such a thing to himself?"

"Maybe he isn't as masochistic as you think." The man shrugged. "Maybe something happened to him. We don't know."

"Ten to one, it's probably something the PLO drew up to feel better about themselves." He shrugged back. "To show that there is something worse than what they really are, fitting aptly, claiming that this… -thing- came slithering from our side of the fence."

"It's easier to put the blame on something else when you have so little, you know." The man said. "It's amazing what you can do when you have an understanding bone in your body."

"Yet while their greedy leader has so much," he replied, "what good would an uprising do us--do them especially?"

"Apparently nothing." The man replied. "After three years of it, our flag still is waving in the warm breeze."

"As is theirs." He nodded.

"True." He shrugged. "As much as I like to discuss further, I really got to get back to work. Care to talk some other time, Mister…."

"David." He reached out his hand. "David Schlitz for traffic and weather."

"Ah yes." The man took it heartily. "I remember you now. Covered that terrible footage yesterday, right?"

"Inadvertently, yes." He pumped gently.

"Well, Dave." The man took his hand back. Dave let his flop to his lap. "I'm Hal, freelance photographer. I'd better be getting back to work. These pictures aren't going to post themselves."

"Okay." He nodded. "Hop to it."

"Will do!"

The photographer strolled past his station easily, dodging people, weaving his way through the maze of desks to the editor's office at the other end of the room. He could just barely catch the blinds rattling on the glass as Hal pushed open the door, disappearing inside. He seemed like a nice guy, though he hoped that grouch behind the blinds thought so as well.

He shrugged it off, pushing it aside as he angled up that bizarre portrait again. His eyes ran over the sketch again, running down the lad's neck on the left, eyeing that thicker piece of flesh with scrutiny. …And a vague sense of familiarity swept over him, struck him like a brick. He had seen this man--this young man somewhere, some time beforehand, a little before the mysterious major graced the country with his angry fists.

Fingers danced atop their dance floor of letters and symbols, clacking as pieces sank deeply at his will only to spring back up again. He thanked the good Lord that he invested in wireless connectivity about a month ago; making queries had never been so much easier. With a tap on the touch-pad mouse, the ISP window flickered on screen. Soon the World Wide Web caught his laptop in its sticky strands, just with use of his name and password.

"Let's see now…." He hummed aloud. "What was I reading that day…?"

The angled arrow floated to the top of the screen, looming over the clock swaddled by a green arrow. The laptop clicked at him with a push of the left button. The history pushed his homepage away, making room for it. And there it was, sitting close to the top, about the fifth one down: the ABC News site. The hovering arrow told him all he needed to: "Colonel Alexander Drazen Found Dead: Ex-Marine's Private Army In Chaos."

He clicked it. The homepage was overwhelmed with white, blinding almost, blues and black spilling on it from the top of the monitor. In a couple seconds, the ABC logo popped onto the top of the page, as did the headline at the top of the white field in sans serif black.

"Select students of Middleton High School were supposed to be treated to a showing of one of our nation's attempts at environmental conservation the morning of--blah, blah, blah…." He read quietly. "But it all came crashing down around them in an instant when a group of heavily armed mercenaries stormed the complex, holding them hostage for reasons unknown--yeah, yeah…!"

With the help of his trusty touch-pad, the article slipped up, consumed by the monitor's top as he moved the scroll all the way down on the scroll bar. It wasn't a very lengthy article to begin with.

"Medical Technicians rushed Ms. Possible and company away, including a possible defector from the terrorists whose name has not been released, to an undisclosed location." He read on. "SEAL teams stormed the complex, rounding up the terrorists left behind as most of them had fled. Two bodies discovered at the scene are thought to be two of Col. Drazen's sons, Tristian and Vasili. The inexplicably huge body of his eldest son, Deutsche, was discovered after a through search of the surrounding seabed. The body of the youngest son, Uzziel, had not been found, despite overwhelming eyewitness accounts, including that of Ms. Possible, to the contrary. All that was found in the fess point, the central area of Escutcheon, was a bloody grappling hook…."

He stole a glance at the picture flanking the article, which pushed at the words awkwardly. It was a profile of the boy in question, puffy hair capping his head, brushed back, a light shade on his cheeks that didn't seem to vanish in the light, with a few longer hairs bushing at his chin. A darker shade than that of his cheeks encircled his eyes at the sockets. Were they brown, or maybe even green? He couldn't tell.

"This is Uzziel Drazen?" he said aloud. "Could this be the infamous Major? He can't be! He barely looks older than my 20-year-old!"

-BL-EA-EA-EA-EAT -

The phone let out that annoying pulsation of a bleat. He let out a sigh, easing himself down back onto his chair. Damn new fangled contraption! He hated that ringer, and yet he found no way to switch it or to even turn it off.

"What's with this damn phone?" he said. "It's not a sheep, for crying out loud."

"That's what I said!" said the guy behind him. "Can the boss be troubled to get us some regular phones? Not no--but hell no!"

"Ever wonder why?" he turned his ear to him gently.

"Not really." The man said.

"Me neither." He shrugged. "Hell--it could quack like the PA Chairman, and I'd still pick it up! Speaking of which…."

The receiver clunked a bit on its cradle as he scooped it up. The AC did a fine job, chilling his ear to the core as he pressed the phone against his head. With a tap near the cradle, he fingered the button to the first line, where that red light glared at him.

"-Ah… -" he yawned. "This is Schlitz."

"Schlitz…?" coming out of the earpiece was that of a man, a young man at that. He couldn't be over 25, at least. "David Schlitz, of traffic and weather?"

"Speaking." He nodded. "Who may I say is calling?"

"Don't you recognize me, Mr. Schlitz?" the young man said. "I'm sure you've seen me before. And I'm pretty sure our paths have crossed more recently than you think, like yesterday for example."

"Okay, kid." He rolled his eyes. It was prank caller, probably just old enough to see his first ejaculation. They had a nasty habit of posing as the Major, terrorizing venues and businesses owned by the Arabs. Thankfully arrests had been made recently. "I'm a very busy man. I don't have time for prank calls. If you want to harass somebody, go call our editor. He's a gullible man. I can patch you through even."

"Call me kid again," the boy growled, "and you can look forward to a bullet in your ass! But that wouldn't serve the purpose for this call, now would it?"

"Nope!" he eased his back against the back of his chair. "Prank calling… threats…. That sounds enough for an arrest, now doesn't it, -kid-?"

The phone crackled in his ear. He grinned confidently.

"But I'll tell you what, though." He let a finger twirl around the cord of the receiver. "Come clean now, and I'll forget this even happened, yes?"

"I'm telling you the truth, my thick-headed friend." The punk replied. "I'm the commandant of this little violent group, the same man who shot a hospital up back in Prague, and the same -kid---as you rudely put it--who deep-six well over 40 mongrels in their place with many more licking their wounds. The same -kid- who can easily do it to you, dear Mr. Schlitz, without losing a wink of sleep over it."

"That does it, kid!" he growled. "I'm calling the cops! See how tough you are behind jail!"

"I can be a very dangerous -kid-, Mr. Schlitz." The kid said coolly.

"Try me, you little shit!" he growled.

"I think…" the kid paused briefly, "you should come to the closest window."

He blinked… and with sudden resolve hardened in his mind, he pushed himself to his feet, letting the chair roll back to a stop behind him. He strolled the closest window coolly. The punk was bluffing. He had to be bluffing. This little shit couldn't be the enigmatic Major that terrorized the people east of the fence, or Colonel Drazen's kid for that matter.

It'd be far too easy. Probably, he was just some punk calling from a payphone, possibly across the street. If he found that kid there, boy was his ass going to be so red! He served his time in the IDF; he knew all the Krav Maga he would ever need, and probably more than that punk ever did.

"Okay, Punk Bad-Ass." He stabbed his fingers through the blinds, spreading them far enough apart for an eyeful. "Where are you--!?"

Standing attentively across the street, with bull-pup rifles and SMG guns at the ready, stood several soldiers, swathed loosely in olive. Their machine-gun mounted Hummer vibrating behind them, purring, Hebrew characters emblazoned in red on the door panel. One of the men moved his head back and forth, his neck arcing it back inch by inch as though he were scanning his building for something… someone in particular.

"Oh… -dreck-!" he cursed.

He blinked. These guys were with the VSA, of course, but they didn't take orders from a punk. They wouldn't. The punk was closer than he thought--

The soldier's head ceased his sweep, his face staring right at his while the eyes narrowed. Dave's heart murmured nervously, squirming as the soldier moved his face away, pressing it into the radio he held near his ear. Two of them left their post, strolling for the other side of the street, coolly passing under the edge of the blinder just below his eyes.

"See?" the punk continued. "Now my men know where you are, Mr. Schlitz. They're coming up. You should have been nicer, Mr. Schlitz."

"Shut it!" he growled.

"You're about to shut it in a minute, Mr. Schlitz." The punk said. "Permanently, if you keep this shit up."

"Fine!" he cursed. "What do you want?"

"Oh?" the kid threw it back. "So -now- you actually want to hear what I've to say, huh?"

"Just spit it out." He rolled his eyes.

"Fine…." The kid sighed. "If that's the way you want it to be."

"It is…."

"Fine." The punk said. "Recently, I've been having problems with a small group of people. People I can't stand. People that have been interfering with my operations, no matter how small or how large they are. They don't want them to go forward, come to fruition, blossom into things of beauty… my beauty.

"And…?"

"My men and I've managed to capture one of them." The punk continued. "Two of them are hiding like vermin, while one is unaccounted for. I know they're out there somewhere, my dear journalistic friend, plotting and planning my demise even as I speak. I must know where they are--and fast! Time's never on my side! And soon my greatest plan has yet to come into play!"

"What plan?"

"Oh, you and the rest of the civilians will see soon enough. But I need your help, Mr. Schultz--!"

"Schlitz."

"Whatever!" the kid said. "I need you all the more."

"And what can I do?"

"Nothing right now, my friend." The kid said. Strangely, the disjointed polyphony of the office was silent, gone almost with the exception of a paper flailing here and there, phones bleating together like a herd. "It sure has gotten quiet in the office of yours, hasn't it? My men must have already arrived then. Isn't that right, boys?"

"That's right, Sir."

A firm, clenching hand clapped onto his shoulder petulantly. He felt as though he was in a film, stuck in slow motion as the hand turned him away from the window roughly. His protagonist made himself known to him with that crossly frown, eyes swollen with a sullen fury, resolve hardened in a drawn out instant. His skin grew clammy as the man's breath wisped over him.

The other one stood at ease, arms behind his back, legs apart with his bull-pup pressed across his chest. This one was no different than the one who stared him down, eyes--rather---eye- swollen with that same sullen rage. It was a disease, contagious throughout the ranks of the Victims' Separatist Army, as the reporters of Channel 2 noted. A mark, as it were, of those who truly were denizens of the devilish heretic himself.

"Target captured, Sir." The man in back noted to his radio.

"Good!" the punk on the line replied. "As you can see, Mr. Schlitz, I'm not lying. I have no reason to, after all. When you're the Major of this outfit, you can do anything. And as much as I'd like to keep harassing you, dear sir, I'm afraid that work must interject itself again. My men will take it from here. I'll look forward to seeing you…."

The phone went off instantly, clicking, dead silence swirling in his ear. It wasn't a lie after all. Soberly, he laid the receiver down upon its cradle, possibly for the last time.

All eyes were on him, the soldiers, his peers, even that portly editor managed to lumber out of that door, hands at his hips, grasping feebly at his reputed authority. He knew those looks all to well, the empty gaze they gave to someone on the verge of eternity. David P. Schlitz: dead man walking.

"What on earth is going on here!?" the editor demanded weakly.

"This doesn't concern you, Sir." The soldier in back replied.

"Mr. David Schlitz." The man in front of him said.

"Yes…?" he asked needlessly.

"The good Major wants a word with you." The man replied. "Come with us immediately."

"You storm in here and detain one of my employees!" the editor barked. "The -hell- this doesn't concern me! You guys ought to be arrested yourselves!"

"Shut up, Moshe…!" he exclaimed drawly.

"The -hell-, you say!" The editor shouted belligerently, unintelligently. "There's been an accident on the freeway, a goddamn pile up--traffic's at a standstill! I can't loose a man now! I'm calling the police--!"

-BAM! -

The women shrieked--yelped, some even jumping out of their chairs as if the seats became superheated. Something growled explosively at the portly man as he wobbled back into his office. Moshe had tumbled through his prestigious door, planting his pudgy face on the hard carpet out of his eyes' reach.

"Moshe…!" Hal shouted. "MOSHE!! Damn it--CALL A FUCKING AMBULANCE!!"

He placed his gaze back upon the men. The soldier in back just stuffed his pistol back into the holster at his leg.

"Let this be a lesson to all of you, people!" the man in front exclaimed. "Fuck with the VSA, fuck with our leader, and get fucked yourselves!"

Dread touched his spine with an icy finger when the man in front put those swollen, angry orbs back on him. All the Krav Maga in the country couldn't save him now.

"Come, Mr. Schlitz." The man said coolly. "The Major is waiting for you."

---

Utter blackness all around and not a single shred of light to see. It had been a while since the thugs in olive had taken him alive, detained him, as they simply called it. Kidnapping was too harsh a word, plucking the wrong set of strings. If David Schlitz played it wrong too much, a simple pick at the next string would be his last, snapping out of control like a loose piece of piano wire.

If that string dealt him the final blow, hardly anyone would know. It'd be weeks--maybe even months before the troops found his rotten body, consumed by the elements and the vultures flying by. David Schlitz, gone forever with the sunset. It was going to be a long afternoon….

As far as he could piece together patiently, he was taken to some kind of building after a lengthy car ride. Loafers fell hard upon a floor, hard and rough like cement, scraping his soles as he dragged his feet. His plodding steps resounded closely together, one after another. It was a corridor of some kind; he just knew it.

"-Uh…! -" He groaned. "Where am I…?"

"Shut up!" that petulant soldier barked. "You'll find out soon enough. And when you finally do, you'll probably wish you hadn't!"

A door was addressed, the stifled clattering of a knob, the hinges moaning piercingly for grease of some kind. He nearly stumbled over his own shoes as the men guided him along by his thumbs.

"You're just about there." The petulant one said--

A horrid stench plowed into his nose, drilling in through the nostrils. Shit--what an odor! To say it was overly ripe would be the understatement of the month. It smelled more of a meat locker that some sadomasochist eagerly cut the power to. Judging by its intensity, the meat wasn't even a jog away.

Uneasy queasiness churned what little lunch he had in his belly strongly.

"And…" the petulant man said as something scraped nearby, "sit!"

Curved, hard plastic slammed against his butt as he relinquished easily from the man his thumbs. His butt pressed against a chair, armless like the ones he had seen before in classrooms, its back tipping just above the small of his own. The blackness before him shifted, up his crown--and light, sweet light stung him harshly in the eyes.

"OH--!" he winced.

"Light too harsh for you?" the petulant one mocked. "Too bad."

"-Uh…. -" he sniffed lightly. "What's that stench…?"

"You don't need to worry about that." The man said. "You'll get used to it sometime."

He blinked, sense filtering gradually back into his head with the batting of his eyes. The decorator had a fascination with red-out, it seemed. Dark red was splotched everywhere in the square room, unevenly and messily, like a Pollack work gone horribly awry. Grays filtered in slowly, bleeding into the red as unevenly and messily… before they outgrew the red completely. A lengthy smear was in the corner; colored of flesh, morphing, shrinking into a crisper shape, shape that of a human--!

The place looked like a third-world slaughterhouse. Blackened crimson was splattered on the dingy walls, caked on, smeared on, whatever you could do with blood, it was probably gleaming right at him in the light. In the corner, a stripped woman hanged by a meat hook, her goods hidden by swathing black panties and a sports bra. Her crimson encircled a bloody piece of duct tape, trickling down her side. A loose burlap bag, wrinkled at her shoulders, hid her identity.

-Unconscious…. - he nodded. -The stench probably got to her---

A snap crackled throughout the room, a lengthy, crackling snap that made his stomach turn. That sound, he remembered it well--too well from his days in the defense forces, sitting in a hospital, listening to god knows what as the docs operated on his buddy. The poor guy tripped a claymore; nasty shit it was too. A few doped-up pellets caught him in the leg, but his buddy caught the brunt of it. He could have sworn he heard some bones snap at him that day….

Cautiously he let his neck carry his head towards the shoulder on the left, letting the hairs on his chin drag it and keep it at a halt. The corner was dark, no bright, intruding lamp shining overhead. Something was there definitely, hunched over, shifting in the shroud of the shadow. The thing let out a grunt--or what seemed like a grunt, a buzzing, crackling growl--and something was thrust into the air, tumbling over the creature's head, behind it. It -slapped- onto the floor, in the harsh spotlight--

It was a leg, a bloody leg at that, crimson smeared all over the smooth skin while some pooled onto the cement. His insides began to twist sickly. It looked like it belonged to a woman, the leg and calf too thin and small, the foot too dainty and cared over to be a man's.

"Oh--gross…!" he stuck out his tongue.

--A chunk of twisted, crafted metal fell out of the shade, screeching as it scraped the floor, close to the limb. It looked like some sort of junkyard claw, bulky and chunky, designed to scoop up large, cumbersome objects like it were a mere pillow. It made a rattle as it lifted off the floor, chunky digits lifting off the boxy pockmarks they made on the pavement. With a droning buzz, it moved over the limb. He winced as the pavement let out a screech, the limb trapped within that death grip, blood smeared as it was dragged back into darkness. Another buzzing, crackling grunt escaped that terrible shade.

"Oh God…!" he cringed.

"Ah…!" a familiar someone said elatedly over the creaking of the door. "My esteemed guest has finally arrived!"

"The punk kid!?" Dave blinked. "What the fuck man!?"

"Must we really go through this, Mr. Schlitz?" the punk graced him with his dark, flowing plastic backside as he walked passed. What the hell was with this guy? He never had seen anyone wearing a heavy-duty poncho inside before. "Do you really want a repeat of what happened at the newsroom? Not that it really matters to me. Piss me off enough, and I'll have Channel 1 to turn to."

"Is that a fact?" He sneered. "Then why don't you just kill me outright?"

"I don't believe in killing the good Lord's chosen for no reason." The punk replied. "They must be a -rodef- for me to go through with that. The -real- monkeys and pigs on the other side of our fence are a different story. People like you should have seen it by now. They are not viable partners for peace, Mr. Shultz--"

"Schlitz!"

"Whatever." The punk rounded the corner of the table, metallic legs scraping the cement as he drew the chair out. "They are not peacemakers, Mr. 'Schlitz'. They are warmongers, just like you and your kind call me! They are interested in nothing but our destruction as a people and as a state. If they want to drive us into the sea, as they always scream, I say we give them hell before they do! So I do give them hell, driving them back to the deserts where they belong. And how do you people repay me…?"

As the punk sat down, his hand went for his baggy hood, drawing it slowly over his head… over the large, metal slivers imbedded in his skull. It was just like the drawing! The brown hair was cut skintight. A cloudy, milky orb sat beside the eye of hazel. His cheeks were marred with twisted scars, the punk's left side more than his right. For some malicious reason, the punk kept his left hand out of sight.

"You send that -shikse---" the freaky Goth, punk… thing pointed to that bare, bleeding girl in the corner, "over there in the corner, to put a propeller through my head. Thankfully for me, that didn't come to pass. Thicker skull, you know."

The thing in the shadow let out another growling, buzzing snap.

"Well, what do you know." The punk said. "He agrees."

"That thing's a 'he'?" he took another look.

"He was sometime ago." The freaky punk shrugged. "Doesn't really matter now if he was de-sexed or not. He's still alive."

"So what do you need me for?"

"What's your occupation over at Channel 2?"

"Traffic for the most part, dabbled into some meteorology here and there." He shrugged back. "Typically I report how much Johnny Jackass screwed up on the freeway. Did you hear my boss back at the newsroom about the huge pileup? He'd have me in the 'copter post haste. Oh wait--that's right, you didn't hear him, did you? After all, the gruesome twosome put a smoking hole in his chest."

"I heard about it from them." The punk replied. "This Moshe person sounded like a real jerk. I practically did you a favor."

"A favor!?" He let his growl become a crescendo. "A FAVOR!? That wasn't a favor--it WAS JUST PLAIN MURDER!!"

The punk shrugged. "Favor, murder… two sides on the same coin, if you ask me."

"I didn't ask you, punk!" He exclaimed. "I -told- you! Shit--I can't believe I was ever biased towards you. You killed dozens of people, you killed my boss, and it didn't even take you a few days!"

"Blah, blah, blah, Mr. Schultz--!"

"SCHLITZ, DAMN IT!"

"Whatever…!" the punk yawned.

"Why am I here!?" He demanded.

"You said it yourself, Mr. 'Schlitz'." The metal head made quotes with his hand. "You're a reporter, you're here to report. And what I need now, dear sir is a reporter! I don't care if you are in traffic or in weather. You have access to materials I'm in need of right now."

"What are you going to do with them?" he asked.

Four legs scrapped the floor again while the metallic punk pushed himself away from the table. His eyes narrowed on the empty sleeve on the poncho, dangling and swaying beside the punk as though it were fringe, yet something bulky angled from the left oblique up to the right shoulder… and a little beyond, a small, thin tent peaking on the shoulder.

"Broke your arm?" he asked.

"I can't say," the punk replied, as he strolled for the bagged prisoner, "but -she---on the other hand--can!"

The psycho put his hand onto the girl's taut belly, just above her little navel. Drawing the pads of his fingers up her body, he moved them straight up her breastbone, in between her perky mounds without a second thought, dipping the index into the slight dimple just above where her collarbones met. He twisted his hand outwardly, scraping a hearty piece of the burlap into his grip and drew it over the girl's head, letting it slip to a stop on her reddish crown.

"Isn't that right, precious…?" the metal-head said cutely, bitterly, gripping her angelic face by the chin, forcing a nod out of her. "Well what do you know--she agrees with me."

The reddish--red hair, her button nose, her beautiful face; he had seen the girl somewhere before. Quite often, in fact, but he couldn't put his finger on it, though it were just out of his reach.

The punk pried her eye open, a bright emerald that sat on a bed of white, just before he pushed his face close to it.

"Eye see you…!" the punk chuckled.

And the gears in his head finally let out a sturdy -click-. "Is that who I think it is…?"

"Probably." He shrugged. "I didn't know Israel cared so much to keep up with her exploits all across this disgusting spinning ball of filth. Canada, Cambodia, Japan--New Jersey even! This little wench gets around, kind of like the village bicycle--everyone gets a ride!"

"Kimberly Possible…!" Schlitz said in awe. "-The- Kimberly Possible; the same one that axed that unstoppable Family bunch? You actually captured her!"

"Don't ever speak to me about The Family!" the punk growled. "Each time gets a broken finger!"

"So you really are Col. Drazen's youngest after all…."

"Call me that again, and I just might let G over there have himself some seconds." The metal-head growled again. "Isn't that right, G?"

That freak in the corner let out another unintelligible, buzzing snap.

"Oh--he likes that idea!" the punk made the burlap drop over the ginger girl's face again. "Very much so…! But we're getting off topic here. Now, what I need you to do is get me some airtime! Sometime soon… like--oh, I don't know--today!"

"For what, pray tell?" he'd fold his arms if he could.

Something was up definitely. He should have known already when the 'Major' gestured towards Ms. Possible.

"Bait, my dear man!" the kid said. "I have the distinct suspicion that she was not plotting my demise alone, no sir. There are others out there, watching and waiting, I in the pinch of their crosshairs already. They must be brought to light if I ever want my plans to succeed!

"We're going to have ourselves a little execution, Mr. Schultz--!"

"Schlitz!"

"Whatever!" the kid graced Ms. Possible with his backside, strolling coolly for his seat. "As I said, this little wench is going to die in Technicolor, and you're going to help me!"

"Oh really?" he frowned. "And what makes you think I'm going to help you?"

"I still have some buddies in the IDF, Mr. Schlitz." A button slipped out of sight on the punk's chest with help of his fingers. The flap was reared up against him as his fingers snaked into the pocket, the wrist whipping it out just as his fingers stopped squirming. Pinched between his index and his middle was a small slip of paper, no bigger than a wallet sized photograph. "They tell me things, good things, bad things, and things in between, like who survived and who didn't come back this afternoon."

His heart skipped a beat when the punk slipped him the paper. It came to a stop at the peak of his belly, threatening to flutter to the nasty floor with a tip.

As he took the paper, he couldn't help but think how his little boy was doing in the service. He lost a friend in the field just a couple of weeks ago. It rattled his nerves a bit, yet he had the strength not to give into the fierce hatred like these clowns. Just like his boy, Junior was, always making his old man proud. Again, he should have seen it coming when he took saw the face of his son, staring back at him on the paper.

"What--have you done to my son, Drazen!?" he demanded. He felt the fury rush up with in him, burning much rhyme and reason to a charred crisp.

"Given your emotional state," the punk demeaned him, "I'm going to forget you said that. But it's not what I -have- done to him, Schlitz. It is what I am -going- to do to him for your noncompliance. You've been drafted into the Defense Forces before, right? A lot of things can happen in the field, Mr. Schlitz, like a stray bullet or a booby trap. Whatever it is, it all adds up to a bad day, and especially a bad day for your kid."

"This is OUTRAGEOUS!!" He exclaimed. "I will NOT be threatened by you, Major Drazen!"

"Then all you have to do is get me some airtime." Mr. Dead Meat said. "Others will coming running soon enough. Soon the whole world will know and fear me, Mr. Schlitz, and your son will be safe. I can't promise the dirty-rotten-inbred-filth next door won't though, but I'm certain Junior knew that going in."

"Fine…!" he nodded grudgingly. "You'll get your fucking airtime! But what guarantees do I have from you?"

"Well--for one, you won't get a bullet through your head!" the punk shrugged. "I think that's good enough, don't you think?"

"…." He growled.

"I'll take that as a yes, Mr. Schlitz." Drazen nodded. "But come now. You've got a lot of work to do, and not enough time to do it."

The kid angled himself away from him, to the doorman of a grunt.

"Get Mr. Schlitz back to his office, post haste!" The kid barked. "And get this bitch cleaned up! I want her packed and ready to be shipped out! All nonessential personnel present, I want them ready to move out within the hour! I'm in the mood to defile something!"

"Yes sir!" the grunt exclaimed--and then came a squeak of the door, loud and screeching, whining as it came to a close inside its frame.

"Come now, Mr. Schultz." The punk turned to him again, narrowing his eye--the only eye that apparently worked. "You've got shit to do!"

The blindfold slipped over his eyes easier now. Madness, sheer madness it was. Drazen, the cannibal afraid of a little light, and the slaughterhouse that summed it all up in a bloodied gift box, he'd be happy if he never saw any of it again.

"I'm going to need one hell of a bath after this…!" he mumbled.


	30. Chapter 30

Hello people; author here. Due to my new job, updates may not come as freqent as you'd expect. I'm sorry, but try to live on anyway!

-God-hand Number 7-

---

30

The afternoon crawled by on its hands and knees, the bright sun above hardly halfway past noon. Everything ticked by at a slug's pace since Kim had been caught between a rock and a hard place, a very lethargic slug that had practically given up, inching along simply for its own amusement… if their instincts allowed such feeling.

Still, there was nothing to do till the night had long crawled after the daylight, till everybody crashed that Bonnet guy's practice with his klezmer thingy. Yune was in the other room, isolating himself inside Robin's shower. Tara could have used one herself after her sparring session; how she'd love to have her man all to herself behind the curtain. But of course she couldn't, she wouldn't till her wedding day came to pass.

Then again, life could be so unpredictable at times….

-Nah…! - She shook it off. -Don't even think like that! -

Ronald lay on the couch, his bald pet curled into itself upon its master's chest, rising and falling in sync with his breathing. Both basked in the glow of the TV, blaring some Semitic gibberish only that the messy blond could make sense of.

"So what does a Jew or a Jewess do during his or her downtime around these parts, Ronald?" she asked.

Ron said nothing, gestured nothing, not even his rat could be bothered to squeak.

"Apparently s/he watches that big ass TV." She shrugged. "I should have known."

Her boots--rather--her man's boots carried her over to the couch. Looking down upon the boy, he had his lids closed, eyes jittering behind the thin flesh, and his breathing calm and gentle.

"REM." She remembered reading sometime ago. "I wonder what he's dreaming…."

"Nothing you'd be interested in, T." Yune called through the bathroom door, probably ajar just a little bit. "Probably eating the world's biggest nacho, winning Fortress with the highest score, or maybe something a little more risqué."

"And how'd you know that, Yune?" she asked.

"Don't be silly, Tara." The bathroom door squealed as her man pushed it open. "He's a boy, after all, and Ron obviously cares for Kimberly a lot. Would it really be that surprising if good old Ron took things to another -intimate- level--in his own brain, that is."

"Aisle 16…!" Ronald said sleepily, pumping his arms out swiftly, strongly before they slapped onto his belly. "Smarty Mart March Madness Sale…! Everything… must--GO…!"

"I take that back…!" Her man noted.

"No," she'd wink if Yune were sure to see it, "not really. That's the cool part of dreams, I guess. They can go wherever you want them to."

"Exactly." Yune agreed. "And no one would ever know, if you kept it to yourself like a mafia secret. But there's a place I'd like you to go for me, Tara."

"Oh really?" she smirked. "Where would that be, dearest?"

"In the bedroom," he said, "would you be so kind as to hand me the clothes I have on the bed?"

"Oh." She let her lips drop back down into neutral. "Well, sure. If you want."

"I do want, in fact." He said. "And no, you can't have a peak at me!"

"Please…?" she said sweetly. "I'll keep my hands to myself…!"

"Nope." Yune said simply. "You naughty girl!"

"Okay…!" she rolled her eyes. "Have it your way. But you can't blame this girl for trying, right?"

"Nope." He said simply again. "Tara, you know I love you deeply, right?"

"Of course I do." She smiled warmly. "I love you too."

"T," he said, "I'd love nothing more than a hands-on experience, but if I get started, I know I won't be able to stop myself. I'd love to have kids with you, T, but I don't want to get you pregnant right now. It's just not the time."

"I'll say." She nodded. "Not with these violent freaks running around. I want our baby safe and secure."

"Now we're getting ahead of ourselves." Yune said. "Not even married yet, and already we're talking about kids."

"Well, I heard it's good to discuss these things beforehand." She shrugged. "To know what each partner wants out of a relationship before they walk the aisle."

"Hmm…." She placed a hand to her belly. Her stomach grumbled against her fingers. Was it that time of day already? Man, did time have a way of slipping by. "Oh--! I'd better eat something. Could have had some cheese if Shaggy over there didn't eat it all! Damn hog!"

"Uh--Tara?"

"Yes, Yune?"

"My clothes please?" he said. "We'll get something a little later, okay?"

"Oh!" She blinked. "Right."

Her legs carried her around the corner, past the bathroom, through the door that led into the bedroom. Yune had his clothes folded neatly in on the bed spread, a tacky gray T-shirt resting atop a pair of faded blue shorts. Thank God Yune had her around; the poor Asian was a fashion disaster waiting to happen. Either way, her forearms made like a forklift, wedging underneath the clothes and lifting them off the bedspread.

"Are you serious, Yune?" she pushed the neat pile onto her left forearm, balancing it evenly. Her right arm couldn't help but rub itself against her pants, feeling somehow contaminated by her man's dreaded old people sense of dress. "Don't wear this! You'll look like an old man! And if I even see you tuck it in, I swear I'm going to scream!"

"Not this again!" Yune sighed. "What's wrong with the way I dress, pray tell?"

"Not only did you just happen to find the worst shirt on the rack, dearest!" she rolled her eyes. "You also chose a pair of ratty old shorts, faded from one too many times in the wash!"

"I'm hurt!" He laughed. "I'm crushed! I thought you loved me, Tara! Whatever happened?"

"Don't give me that!" Her heel dug itself into the carpet as she turned around. "I may love you, Yune, but that doesn't mean I have to love your taste! That does it! When we get back home, I'm taking you shopping, first thing!"

"Blah…!" She could have sworn she heard that rat squeak unsolicited.

"Blah yourself, Rufus!" she frowned.

"This is one lovers' quarrel you can't interfere with, little guy." Yune said jovially. "Sorry."

Her boots pointed at the bathroom before her body had a chance to catch up with them, spine twisting back into proper alignment before the door. She moved the clothes up into her palm with help from her free hand, lifting them up to shoulder height like a bellhop with a fresh set of towels. She gave the door a little bang with her free knuckle.

"Tacky clothes for Mr. Bin-Mok!" she grinned.

"Cute…" her man eased the door a little more away from the frame, "really cute."

Yune simply moved into her view. Man was he hot, and the thought of the steam escaping the room didn't even cross her mind. That medium build hosted well-carved pecks just above his abdominal muscles, peaking barely through his smooth, tan skin. His coup-de-grace was hidden from her, swathed in a thick, white bath towel that wrapped tightly around his waist.

"Thank you, dear." His smirk came fleetingly while he forced his arm past the door. The clothes left her arm in a twinkling of an eye. A small, warm tingle simmered in her belly as the tips of his fingers brushed over her own.

"You're welcome, of course." She nodded slowly, drinking in all the handsome beauty that was her man. So hot, so firm, so… utterly yummy, he was! "I'd like to use the shower too, when you're done."

"Sure T." Yune nodded. "I got to get dressed first, brush my hair and whatnot."

"Yeah…." She let his abs slide up in her view till they peaked just below her eyebrows. Then she simply… kept watch. "You do that. Don't let me stop you."

"Right." Her heart skipped a beat when his hands went for that towel, that -tight- towel that hugged his butt so nicely. He thumbed out the little piece that he had tucked in, and his hands clenched in anticipation.

This was it!

"Bad girl!" She tore her gaze from his towel. Yune frowned at her while he took his hand away from the towel, wrapping his fingers tightly against the spray bottle nearby. "Bad…!"

Her man shoved the spray right at her. She yelped as a cold mist wisped against her face, nearly stumbling backwards over her boots.

"What the--!?" she blinked.

"That's what you get for being a naughty cat, Tara." Yune smirked as he gave her another generous puff of mist. "Now get out of here, or you won't get your ball of yarn. So there!"

His pink tongue pointed at her playfully before the door clicked back into the frame, rather loudly, the exclamation point of his underlying theme.

"Have it your way, Yune." She sighed. "You're mine already!"

"Damn right." Her man called through the door. "Now go watch some TV or something. I shouldn't be too long."

"Right-o." she shrugged.

Her fingers ran slickly over her face while she wiped the water away, pushing it up into her hair while she went back for the couch. The blond boy still was on the couch, a hand on the floor by the wrist, and a shoe on the floor by the arch. Rufus sat like a little puppy on its master, riding the rhythmic waves while its buddy's chest rose and fell. Those dark, beady eyes glued to the TV.

Just like the Dan Panorama, the set spat out Semitic gibberish that only Ron could make some sense of. It was all in Hebrew… or Yiddish--or whatever language the natives spoke around these parts. All that she could really tell was that it was some kind of news program, two people sitting stiffly behind a rather large desk. That much, she could put together easily.

She shuffled herself between the couch and the coffee table, weaving between Ron's fallen limbs and the tempered pane. She turned around at the waist. The bald pet blinked, narrowing those beady little eyes, glaring at her when her shadow fell over it.

"Hey!" Rufus squealed through its nose.

"Sorry buddy." Easily she piled the rat into her sweeping palm. "But I could use a sit. You could sit on me, if you'd like."

"Hmm… fine…!" that little rat sighed. It was so cute in its… bald--creepiness. Hell--with those buckteeth fused on his lips, it was hard to take anything the rat squealed seriously.

"Thanks."

She let her body twist back into proper alignment. Soon, one thing led after another, she let her knees give out, buckling and gravity seized her by the hindquarters. But thankfully, something was below that her that broke her fall, something squishy and scrawny. Her rump could feel something like bone shifting inside her cushion. It even let out some air in some sort of grunt.

"-OH! -" Her pillow coughed. "-Ah…! -"

"Whoops!" she smirked. "Was that you, Ron? I didn't see your body melting over the whole damn couch!"

"What…?" Her cushion blinked, blond fringes crammed between it and the armrest.

"Come on, Ron." She coaxed. "Wake up time."

"-Hmm…. -" the blond growled.

"Come on," she sighed, "get up! It's nearly four in the afternoon!"

"Fine…!" the boy frowned. "Now get off me!"

"Aw…!" she smirked. "I don't think I could, even if I wanted to. You're so comfortable!"

"Oh--come on, Tara!" He whined. His limbs flailed over her back and her legs like a pair of dying fish, attempting feebly to scoop her, to pry her from her spot. "I can barely breathe! I'm too young to die! Where the heck's Yune? Don't you already have -his- brain to mess with?"

"He's busy right now." She smirked.

"Man--!" His abs tried uselessly to sit him up. "What'd I ever do to you?"

"Nothing, really." she shrugged. "You're just fun to tease. Besides which, you hogged all of that goat cheese. What if Yune or I wanted a piece, huh?"

"But you never said anything!" he protested.

"IT'S THE FACT OF THE MATTER, FOOL!" She exclaimed, giving his innards a jolt with a little bounce. "I'm hungry and there's nothing here--because of you two!"

"Oh--!" Ron groaned. "But… you can't be hungry, Tara."

"Oh really?" she smirked playfully. "And why's that Mr. Stoppable?"

"You simply can't be hungry around these parts." He wiggled. "Because how can you be Hungary when you're close to Turkey and Greece?"

"Huh?" she blinked.

"Like I said, Tara." Ronald said. "You can't be -Hungary- when you're near -Turkey- and -Greece-!"

"Cute Ron." She nodded bitterly. "But that doesn't put food in my belly, does it Mister?"

"I guess not."

"No, it doesn't!" she bounced again. Ron let out another grunt.

"Come on--man!" Ron whined--

-Bang--Bang--BANG!! -

A steady thumping came from the wall behind, the drywall practically jumping off the frame with every beat.

"KNOCK IT OFF, YOU TWO!" Her man shouted.

"Okay…!" she let her eyes roll habitually.

"WHAT?"

"I said OKAY!" she exclaimed, tapping the wall with her elbow. "Man, he can be such an old geezer sometimes."

"Better do what he says, Tara." Ron said jokily. "If he has to come back here, he'll turn the car around and we'll be going back home. No circus for us!"

"Blah…!" she gagged aloud. "I hate circuses. The smell, the clowns, and the carnies have some really sticky fingers."

"Uh-huh, uh-huh!" the little rodent agreed. "Sticky icky!"

"Now that we got that settled, T." Ron said. "There's just one more thing we have to tend to."

"What's that?" she asked.

"You're still SITTING ON ME!" he yelled. "Get off!"

"Oh!" she blinked. "Right, of course. Sorry about that."

Ronald gagged as she stood up, driving her butt into his gut as her legs yanked it off. The blond scrambled for one side of the couch, swooping his legs off the other cushion just for her. Her rump sank gladly into the bare cushion, letting her arm melt atop the rest beside.

She looked at the TV. Still it sputtered out that language she couldn't begin to understand, but something wasn't quite right. The cardboard cutouts behind the oversized desk sat rather tensely, unnerved by something obviously. The boy next to her had a definite kink in his brow when she shot him a glance.

"You understand them, Ron?" she asked.

"Being the only Jew in the room," his closest eye rolled for her, gazing at her dubiously, "hello… yeah!"

"What are they saying then, Mr. Smarty Pants!" she pressed.

"Well, hold on now…!" Ron leaned his back away from the couch, elbows sinking into the meat of his legs just above his knees while he laid his chin below his knuckles. "Okay…."

"And…?" she said.

"Breaking news…" the blond said slowly, "out of Jerusalem…. We have gotten… word--that a convoy of VSA… arrived… by the Wailing Wall. Details are unclear… at the moment. David--Schlitz… at the scene."

"What?"

"You heard me right, T." Ron said. "Now hold on a second."

"Okay."

She nodded while the TV cut immediately to that famous wall, green patches of that grassy stuff peeking through the cracks. The equally famous dome of… shinny stuff sparkled brightly. It was like the sun, sitting in a patch of blue, beautiful in a way. Surely Ronald held his own opinions about it; probably better if she didn't inquire.

Behind the man, the ground before that wall teamed with men in olive. The red characters emblazoned on the hummer parked nearby told her all it need to. Yet far before that famous site stood a man who had seen better days, disheveled, hair in a messy fray, eyes glistening the trouble that festered within him. If she had known better, she'd say that the guy wasn't happy to be there at all.

"It has been quite…" Ron worked his magic with the TV, "a day… here. I am pleased… that I'm--alive… today. But with… heavy heart… I… sorry to say that… after today… the world will not be… happier anymore."

"Huh?" she blinked. "What're you talking about?"

"Cut me a break, Tara." Ron rolled his dark eyes. "I'm doing my best here. You know the last time I spoke this fluently?"

"Uh… Ron?"

"I was five, okay?" Ron said. "Considering I haven't spoke it well over ten years, I'd say I'm doing pretty good!"

"You are." She pointed. "But the guy's still talking."

"Right." He nodded. "He's basically talking about how he got abducted by these brutes and why--!"

"Why what?"

"Hold on…!" Ron glared at the TV crossly. "People of Israel… I present--you… our infamous major…!"

She gasped quietly, feeling her heart thump against her sternum. Rufus growled angrily at the set. Ron blinked a few seconds, letting what little of it soak thoroughly into his brain.

"Major…?" Ron pondered it aloud. For some reason, a stopwatch seemed appropriate. "The Major--of course!"

"In record time too…." She smirked weakly.

"Huh?"

"Never mind." She shook her head.

"What's going on out there?" her man asked loudly through the wall.

"Give us a minute." She called back. "Go on, Ron. Do your thing."

The weary man bowed his head shamefully, wiping a shaky hand across his brow as he walked away. The loose earth pictured brightly shifted, so the speakers hinted, shifted steadily… and everybody's favorite metal-head strolled onto the camera. His twisted face, those weathered, hazel windows of his dark, dank soul were hidden by a thick gas mask. The bulky, awkward combat load was swathed inside that dark poncho.

"Well what do you know." She frowned bitterly.

"People of Israel…" Ron began more confidently, "today I bring you… a message… of--peace (sure buddy, and I bet you have some marshes in the Golan to sell too)."

"I don't need a commentary!" She said.

"Anyway," Ron continued, "and yet… by continued efforts to wipe me out… we can have no peace. As soldier… I'm committed--to protect you by any means. Yet… you--reject me… try to annihilate even. I grow weary… of certain actions against…. I stand before you now… unafraid of you. 'Fear not the one who can destroy your body, fear the one who can destroy your soul and your body!'"

"New Testament?" she blinked. "What's this guy on?"

"Why should I be afraid… of countrymen?" the blond continued. "I grow weary… of this moniker--you people bestowed…. I fear you… never again… Israel… so-called 'Palestine'--and rest of--inbred scum! Behold… you faggots!"

The side of the poncho whipped up as if the wind had taken hold of it. The wretched punk lifted up his only arm, fingers darting for that mask like volley of spears. They twisted by the wrist, seizing the mask by the filter. He angled his strange head--and the mask slipped off smoothly, even over the large shards. The speakers let out a clunk just after the punk let the mask fall out of camera. At last, the world could gaze upon the brat in all his -glorious- fury.

"Behold, scum, your infamous Major." Ron translated flatly. "Uzziel Lichtenfeld Drazen, at your service!"

---

It was Sunday. The last sip of her morning coffee tingled still warmly in her belly; her breakfast had already been shoveled down. Her beeper and cellular switched off, charging beside each other on the end table by her side of the bed. There was nothing to do besides spend the daylight hours with her family. Sure her little girl may have been on another hot adventure, bubbling at the brim with danger and excitement, but she was certain Kimmie could handle herself. She always did… though her last nearly cost the entire family dearly.

A pun, how delightfully grim--not! That gang of treacherous brutes had been put in their place; yet it pained her to know their demise came about by her own flesh and blood. It was like a sliver in her brain, poking at her, buried so deep that not even she--Dr. Jean Possible MD, renowned the world over--could pluck it out. Surely that Hershel lady will help Kimberly see her project through to the end, and hopefully a drop of blood won't splat on the ground, even ooze out its owner.

"This just in from Jerusalem!" the big screen exclaimed, and to think that Jean was about to have a good day too.

Her innards tingled with a sudden dread, her brain reminding her of what it's like to fire a synapse under stress. Maybe it was nothing; maybe it was something, but she needed to know for certain. Collectedly, she gazed upon the set.

"Recently, for several months now," the stiff man reported, "the Israelis have been dealing stressfully with infighting amongst themselves over Palestinian militant attacks and settlements amongst other issues. Now, with talks of a complete turnover of power of the Temple Mount, tensions between the two sides are high, even cases of where fighting has broken out into the streets. Currently one side, calling themselves VSA--or the 'Victims' Separatist Army', claiming to be representing those who've been hurt in the violence, have clustered around the Wailing Wall for what appears to be a press conference. Our correspondent, Troy Castor, has more…."

"Here we go…!" she sighed. "Can't wait to hear this…!"

"Did you say something, Hon?" Gary called from the kitchen.

"Nothing, Dear." She called back.

"Right."

"Yes Phil," nodded the new guy that flashed on the TV, "It's been a hell-of-a weekend here in Israel. Not even a day after the horrific massacre had been blown against the people in the West Bank, the rebel fighters called the 'VSA' have swarmed around the Wailing Wall just around 10 o'clock Eastern Standard Time. The self-appointed leader of the VSA, previously known simply by 'The Major', has for the first time, since his moniker has become household in Israel, revealed himself to the public."

The screen cut to a picture, a photograph taken of a young lad aged no more than 20. A darker shade didn't seem to vanish off his skin, given the brightness, while that same shadow grew rather lengthily, bushy at his chin. His hair was a borderline pompadour, puffy and full of body, glinting youthfully in the light. The lad reminded her of what Kimberly had told her about.

"It has been confirmed that the Major is indeed this man," the guy continued, "Uzziel Lichtenfeld Drazen, formerly of the private army eerily known as 'The Family'. Uzi was thought to be dead for sometime now until today. However, it is not known how he survived, yet today… that doesn't seem to be the issue."

"Drazen?" Gary said. "Isn't that the bunch that Kimmie-Cub put out to pasture some time ago?"

"Apparently not." She shrugged.

"And what seems to be this issue to day, Troy?" the previous anchor inquired.

"From Mr. Drazen's overwritten babbling," Troy replied, "in between abrupt tirades against the Palestinians and Arab neighbors, this apparently is a demonstration. To what purpose the man had in mind is beyond me--!"

Shouting erupted from behind the man, where those brutes in olive crowded and huddled closely together. The microphone dropped below camera, and Mr. Castor graced his audience with the back of his cropped head. --Something popped from the speakers; it was like a firework, like a nice M80. The anchor's shoulders bounced at it.

"Shots fired!" Troy exclaimed as he--and the camera--dropped to a hunch. Jean pushed herself closer to the edge of the couch.

"What's going on?" the former anchor asked flatly.

"BRING OUT THE PRISONER!" someone shouted behind him.

"Well--" Troy replied, "you heard the Major."

The current anchor graced her again with the back of his head, and then whipped it back around properly. He then shuffled out of the camera's viewpoint like a duck.

"Are you seeing this?" the man asked.

The back of the furthest vehicle on screen was overwhelmed with men in olive, about 10 of them at least, maybe even more. Out from the back of that same vehicle came a woman, slender and shapely. They had some humanity; her chest thankfully was swathed in a black bra of some brand. Her legs bagged in a pair of olive pants. With a squint, she could just make out a bit of red pasted on the woman's belly. Didn't take a brain surgeon to figure out why.

"Could it…?" her heart tingled fiercely, jumping against her sternum.

The final piece fell into place at a glimpse of that hair, auburn, fiery red in the Israeli sun, puffy and full of body that looked to reach the small of the woman's… the girl's back.

-My God…! -

"GARY!!" She yelled. "Get in here, NOW!!"

"Whoa, little lady!" Her hubby stumbled in through the kitchen, nearly tripping over his own loafers. "Where's the fire!"

"Shut up!" she growled. "Watch the screen!"

Gary made like a good boy, nodding just after he gave her a quizzical blink. He fixed his eyes onto the huge picture; the olive hooligans dragged her--literally dragged her child over to the wall as soon as her shoes were free of the vehicle. The olive mass smeared in front of the wall dissolved, shifting toward the vehicles. Several men still stood in front of the Wailing Wall, their long guns trained aimlessly at the wild blue yonder.

"As for the exhibition, let it be known around the world that no one can stop me!" said the short man with the… uh… metal growing out his very cropped head, standing idly by the adjacent wall. As God was her witness, that man had metal shards growing out his head, glinting sharply in the sunlight. "This man is tired of being executed! As for today's guest of honor, I cannot say the same for her. By the spilling of her blood, people of this land, rejoice! The new order has arrived!"

"That's odd." The previous anchor said indifferently. What nerve! "He was speaking Hebrew a little while ago. Wasn't he? Maybe I wasn't paying attention."

"No, you're correct." The latter anchor replied. God, what's wrong with these people? "It's been known that he speaks several languages fluently: Czech, German, Hebrew, even Serbian!"

"So that explains the violent streak." The previous one said.

"Probably." Troy shrugged.

Two other olive men had taken custody of her daughter, each taking to an arm. They dragged her through the line of men--the firing line, she should say. The men reared back their arms, and with a mighty heave, they threw her daughter against the holy site. She cringed when Kimmie was flattened against the wall, recoiling off it and onto the ground, into an already broken heap.

"My baby…!" she mouthed.

"We have to do something!" Gary exclaimed. "Contact the Israeli embassy, their Prime Minister, or someone for God's sake! They can't do this; THEY CAN'T DO THIS!"

"Gary, calm down!" she coaxed tenderly.

"CALM DOWN!?"

"Right." She nodded. "These jokers can't succeed. They still haven't found Ron yet. I'm sure he's seen the news, and he's on his way right now! I bet you he is!"

"I don't know, Jean." Her husband dropped his gaze at the floor. A shaky hand of his combed through his hair; she even brushed her fingers through on the other half, just above his temporal lobe. "I just don't know anymore! Why'd we even let her go on these exploits to begin with, huh? I knew someday this was going to happen, Jean, and today happens to be that day! Oh God…!"

Gary looked like he was about to cry. It was he at his most genuine. She'd love it today, under any other circumstances.

"We're such lousy parents!" He sniffed.

"No, we're not." She said. "Kim's not a little girl anymore. She's at that age where she can take care of herself. If she fails, we can't pick up the pieces for her anymore. There are things in the life she's got to find out for herself. She knew that going in, and she didn't care, just as long as she can help those who need it."

"Right." He nodded.

"Come now." She took him by the arm. "Let's just watch. I'm sure she'll get out okay, one way or another. She's been in worse, you know."

"Right." He nodded again.

"And I'm sure Ron's--!"

-KA-BLAM!! -

A loud explosion practically blew out the surround sound. She and her hubby didn't need to be hinted twice.

The grim quietude had erupted into chaos. A thick, chubby plume of white smoke blossomed a few feet off the ground, lifting higher into the sky. Kim was missing in action, nowhere to be seen. The cold soldiers that stood maliciously before her flesh-and-blood have toppled, some motionless while other moved and shifted on their backs weakly like newborn turtles. The Drazen punk looked like he ate one of those shards stuck on his head, storming irritably across the screen--

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw it, just a faint, fleeting wisp of red, puffy and full of body, before it disappeared beneath the top of the closest vehicle. Her little girl had made it out! Kimberly was still alive, someway, somehow!

-Thank you, JESUS! - She smiled brightly. -She's alive, but please… just keep her that way! -

"Way to go, Kimmie-Cub!" Gary praised, as though he were stuck on the sidelines. "Now get out of there!"

"I have a sneaky suspicion she knows that, Gary." She sighed. "Shall I break out the snacks, or your foamy-finger then?"

"I'm good, thanks." He replied. "Aren't you going to watch?"

"No…." She replied. "I can't watch. Besides, my latest essay for the medical journal isn't going to write itself."

"All right." He nodded. "I'll keep you posted--! What THE!?"

"That was Troy Castor in Jerusalem." The previous anchor man said coolly. She blinked. Sitting behind that imposing desk sat the first anchor, dressed proudly in his brown suit, a rather pompous red power tie wrapped firmly around his neck. A bright photograph of the capital city's skyline served as a backdrop. "We will keep you updated. But now, Chef Bob is in the studio, preparing to show us how to make a fine TV dinner! Now doesn't that sound scrumptious? That's coming up on the show that the Tri-City area turns for news, her on Channel--"

She fingered the power button on the remote. There was so much indifference they could handle in a day.

"WHAT!?" Gary yelled. "My daughter's in danger, and ALL THEY CAN THINK ABOUT IS FOOD!? WHAT KIND OF MEDIA CIRCUS ARE THEY RUNNING!?"

"Then again," she rationalized collectedly, "maybe it's better you don't watch. Come on, Gary. I'll make ourselves some BLTs."

Gary managed to stop his hyperventilation, letting out all his frustration in a sigh that filled their spacious living room.

"Yes, dear." He nodded. "I could use a cold one right about now."

"Worry about that later." Her pumps clacked on the tile as she stepped into the kitchen. "Now get in here."


	31. Chapter 31

(R&R as always. Thank you. :)

31

"This man is tired of being executed!" that freak exclaimed unbelievably. Uzi had heart of cold, raw stone, buried deep long before the metal pierced that thick noggin. "As for today's exhibition, I cannot say the same for her."

"Okay, Tara." He said quietly, eyes giving her the once over. Still she wore his old BDU proudly, her hair tied back into a wavy ponytail, the new sniper rifle yanking into her shoulder by the sling. Her lips had never flattened into such grimace, the muscles behind pressing them into a grim, thin line. "This is it. I know, it's a little surreal how we're here on the Temple Mount, but you've got to focus!"

"I'll say!" His woman blinked. "When you told the guards that we came to axe the Major, they practically rolled out a red carpet! One of them even handed me a grenade!"

"Tara…!" He frowned.

"Focus!" She nodded. "Right!"

His knees gave out habitually, his body dropping into a crouch. The blonde followed suit to a T. This was it; it clicked in her mind instantly, he could see. She swung the rifle around, gripping it properly, firmly by the grips. Her small knuckles paled, color drained from atop.

"You ready?" he asked.

"Yes!" she nodded. "As I'll ever be."

"Good."

"But may I ask you a question, Yune?" she asked.

"Go ahead."

"Will Ron be okay--?"

"READY!" he could hear easily the Major from just below the closest horizon of the mount.

"No idea!" it came out in a crescendo. "Come on!"

He felt nothing as he hurried over to that horizon, runner's high achieved even in his short sprint. Tara's rushed feet tapped at the stones lightly, rushing up behind him just as the shrubberies were about to brush past him. He dropped back into a crouch just as shoved his way through; he could see the mass pooled before the wall, lively and mumbling incomprehensibly.

"Okay, Tara." He said quietly. "Get into position!"

"Right."

She brushed by him quietly, the black BDU wisped against his own desert pattern. She took a knee no more than a foot before the sudden drop-off, racking the bolt as quietly as the gun would let her. A thick sigh left her, and then she lifted the mighty rifle, jamming the stock right into her shoulder.

"-Kimchi- and -Alles fur Deutschland-, in position." He spoke into his collar, where that little, black bud sat, pinned to the collar. "What's your status, Nacho Man?"

The girl growled predictably. Bad timing, he knew, but he couldn't help himself.

"Nacho Man is in position," Ron replied quietly, "hanging out, waiting for the big dance number to ensue!"

"Good." He replied. "Whatever happens, stay put!"

"Not that I have much say in the matter," Ron dismissed, "but okay!"

"AIM--!" Uzi shouted again.

"Tara!" he exclaimed mutedly. "Quick--hand me that grenade!"

The girl said nothing, her cheek never left the stock, and the hand that mattered didn't leave the pistol grip. The one clenching the fore-grip dropped off; the girl's lips curled into themselves gently as she was forced to hold the rifle awkwardly. Her fingers slapped at her side, the arm arcing them away with an old Mills Bomb stuck in her grip. It made like its modern, American counterpart as she chucked it at him like softball.

"Here you go." She smirked as her hand took up the grip again.

Carefully, he peeked over the precipice slowly, peeking past and through the foliage that grew out from the cracks. All eyes were on the target, it seemed, the pairs that mattered anyway. Before the wall stood an olive firing line, formed from six soldiers, their bull-pup rifles trained on the wall. His target, on the other hand, stood smugly before the adjacent wall in that thick poncho, the shards shining, sparkling in the light as pompously as their owner.

The web between his index and thumb was against the spoon firmly, and the other index drew out the pin smoothly. The sliver of metal rang out gently as it met the stone at his feet.

"Target acquired." The blonde said flatly. The gun clicked as his woman thumbed off the safety catch.

"Fire at my mark." He replied quietly.

His eyes followed the line that the bull-pup rifles pointed out. Kimberly was stuck between some rocks and a hard place. No last stand, no pithy quips; the auburn had simply given up, it seemed, no hope at all. She lay there helplessly on her elbow, bloody and battered, broken in probably more than just a single place, waiting for the metal head to deal her the final blow.

"Ready, T?" he felt his knuckles pop as he strangled that pineapple with such anticipation.

"As I'll ever be, Yune!" she nodded.

"Fire at will!"

The blonde gave another quick nod--and the rifle roared out explosively, its 50-caliber present sent spiraling to its recipient menacingly. Tara let out a yelp when the gun punched back at her, its gas break arcing as she toppled over.

"WHOA--!"

The hard line before him was broken. The guns dropped down their owners' lengths a bit. Now was as good a time as ever, and without a second thought, he chucked that pineapple underhanded. The spoon bounced against the grenade, he could see, just before it shrank exponentially. It was no more than a dark speck below when it rolled to rest at the boots of the left man at the center….

"DOWN!" he yelled--and he let gravity seize him by the collar. His back could have fared better if the ground wasn't so hard--!

-KA-BAM! -

The pineapple blew its top… along with the rest of its shape when the delay element couldn't make like its label anymore. Little crumbs of rock and/or pavement sprinkled down upon him as though he were ice cream. He spat as a few fell into his mouth.

"That was loud…!" Tara noted uselessly as she pulled herself up on a knee. "We both should be deaf by now."

His abs yanked his torso off the ground, and he pushed himself to a knee. The Daewoo slipped from his holster easily. His fingers wrapped around the serrations at the rear of the slide, and with a bit of a huff he jacked in a round.

"Tara," he said, "get ready to fight!"

"Right!" she said. "Who should I take?"

"Anyone in olive and red!" he exclaimed. "Pave a way for Kim!"

"Sir!" she exclaimed back.

Time meant nothing; indifferent so that it aided him not. Should he lose his life today, it would not strike time even the slightest. The sun would still rise and set with the planet's endless pirouette around space as though he never existed. He didn't care if it went either way as he brought up his pistol, whether this fight was only for a few minutes or if dragged on into the night. Kim was getting out alive no matter what.

"GET OUT, KIM!" he yelled; the pistol bucked in his hand. His bullet smacked back down a stupid, downed man who brought up his rifle against the auburn. "HURRY!"

"WE'LL COVER YOU!" Tara seconded. "NOW GO!"

---

Sergeant First Class Avi Jude wanted to ask him something, he was certain of it. The guy even walked straight for him, calling him by his prestigious title, giving him a quick salute. But then again, he will never know what the good man wanted of him. He lay before him prostrate, choking on the crimson pooling beneath him; even his prostrate was as lifeless as the position. Yet that bloody, ragged hole no more the size of a small tangerine reached out from his back in a white, translucent wisp.

"GET OUT, KIM!" shouted the man on high, the tan speck high on the Temple Mount he'd grown to loathe. So the great Bin-Mok had actually come for her. How very noble of him, yet so pathetically predictable. "HURRY!"

"WE'LL COVER YOU!" The Asian's blonde trophy shouted too. Bin-Mok was a strange man, all right; throwing such beauty to the winds that blew over a dirty, smoking no-mans-land. "NOW GO!"

A puff of white blossomed beside the speck--and the stones behind rang out robustly, ragged bits and pebbles gracing the back of his cropped head lightly. It was nothing that a little sweep of his fingers couldn't handle.

"Possible…!" he growled, walking rather hurriedly for the vehicle, particularly that large, olive van, squeaking on its chassis while the body rocked gently side to side. G hadn't seen any sun in quite a while; he couldn't really remember the last time his little bro basked in its warmth. "You think your friends are all that, but they're not! They're not!"

The pups barked at Yune and his girl at his behest; the two instigators fell back out of sight as plumes of dust enveloped the top forth of the wall. The dead-woman-running had a slight reprieve, nowhere to be seen. Though he could have sworn he heard a door slam somewhere down the line of parked vehicles.

Tensely his teeth pinched a piece of the occupied sleeve of his poncho, tenting it open, bending his arm, letting his fingers snake their way inside. The rest of the arm followed inside fairly well, and it didn't take long for the poncho to fall wrinkled on the dirty ground. His hand went instantly for his chest pocket, and that strange numb tingling raced through his other arm--and his combat load went -CLACK-!!

"Oh Galil…!" his combat arm lifted a little with help from the other, and he felt himself go lopsided while the sling dragged across his shards. A little help from his favorite giant fixed that quickly. He slipped out another needle, rolling into his fingers before the hand reached the van's handle. "Galil…! I have a little surprise for you…!"

"WHAT DID YOU SAY, BRO?" G grumped through the door.

"Whoops," he let his tongue twist back into Czech, "I forgot. Sorry, no time to explain it really!"

The van squeaked at the hinges as he drew the door open, sunlight shining into the cabin. Galil winced painfully as natural light graced him for the first time in well over a month.

"NATUAL LIGHT!!" G screamed. "LIGHT!! GET IT OFF ME--GET IT OFF ME!!"

"No time for that!" he thumbed off the needle's cap. It made like a throwing knife, spinning for its target at the swift twist of the wrist. G jumped as it dug its sliver of steel into the strange flesh. The plunger may have moved, but he made sure it went all the way with a solid pat. "Your meal's escaping!"

"WHAT!?" the Tank Man screamed vigorously.

"You heard me, Galil!" he replied calmly. "Get out there and follow your nose--before it's too late! Use that damn flamer if you have to! I've got a damn pest problem to handle!"

---

The scarred man gave his life for Drazen's lost cause involuntarily at the loud clap of a large caliber gun. The firing line before her was broken, flattened by an angry cloud of fire and smoke. Two shouting voices graced her from above, telling her she was free, that the powers that be had given her another chance despite all her doubt and indifference.

Kim didn't need to be hinted twice.

Her little -trip- into the wall didn't help. Pain seemed to flare from her other injuries into her chest, burning, eating deeper as though that freak had stabbed her with a soldering iron. Yet with her lip bit between her teeth, she forced herself to her feet. It was her only escape--her last escape.

"If I'm… caught," she coughed, "I'm finished…!"

Pressing a palm to the wall, she hobbled for that hummer she was so rudely brought her in. She caught a swaying glint of metal sticking out of the steering column while the men had manhandled her out of the back. If only they were still there--!

A thug in red and olive jumped out from in front of the vehicle, the muzzle from his rifle taking the point menacingly at her. He shouted unintelligibly, to her at least, the flash suppressor jerking from her to the ground.

"Easy buddy…!" she pressed her hand across that monster's oozing bite mark, feeling her precious fluid leak through fingers. She pressed the pinky edge of her hand deeper into her gut while the heel of her palm and the tips of her fingers encouraged more of her crimson out. "Easy…! I don't speak gibberish!"

-Boy's Ron going to kill me! -

The fiend shouted again, the barrel switched between staring her down and staring down at the ground. She shifted a foot closer ever so slowly, and again, and again till she became within a leg's reach of him.

"You want me down on the ground, you say?" she said rhetorically. "This is the outdoors, for Pete's sake. I'm bleeding! The ground is dirty and full of germs. You want me to get sick?"

The man frowned at her, growling.

"Don't answer that." She frowned, and she gently pulled her hand away from her abs. Her blood pooled in her cupped hand, no more crimson than to sit at the very bottom of a 12-ounce cup. Carefully, she angled it away from her. "I really am bleeding."

The thug eased his gun a little, his dark eyes wide open… nice and wide.

"Perhaps you should take a look at THIS!" she yelled.

She pushed her hand into his face, the blood leaping off her palm in a speeding blob. The thug freaked, growling as her crimson splashed onto the target, trickling down his cheeks from the sockets. The rifle slapped against his thigh as both hands went for his face, scratching at clawing at his eyes futilely with thick, cumbersome gloves.

She thrust a boot into his gut with trained ease of a black belt. The man coughed haggardly, groaning mutedly through his gloves while he keeled. Her clean hand twisted around and caught his head by the profile, fingers curling underneath his jaw line. Her boot went for his, the arch against his Achilles as she forced her leg back. The man would have toppled on her if she hadn't yanked his head to the wall.

A thin line of blood was smeared on the wall, arcing from a point at her eye level down to the thug below. The muzzle of his bull-pup poked out from between him and the wall. She must have been feeling generous considering, for she gave the pup a second chance when she took it by the muzzle. The downed soldier waved her goodbye awkwardly while she pulled the sling free.

The driver door opened easily enough as though it were expecting her, not that she cared to ponder over it. Seizing the steering wheel, she yanked herself inside. Her fingers ran down the smooth column, her heart leaping for joy as her fingers tapped light metal, when her ears caught the jingle. The pain in her chest didn't seem to smolder as badly when she went to yank the door shut.

"It's been a couple days!" she smirked, pinching the key with ease. "They could use another lost car!"

The monster beneath the hood grumbled to life, roaring as she gave it some delicious petrol. Yet even its roar did nothing to drown out that whirr… that buzzing, droning whirr she'd grown to loathe!

"No…!" she clenched the wheel tightly.

The freak's timing was impeccable, rolling before the vehicle smugly, its top lip curling into itself over that nasty enamel. Its flesh appeared rather robust, more defined than previously, the shoulder rounded and firm while the pecks bulged out from that chest. The bulky claw closed, making like a fist, the bottom digit easing itself between the two on top till it could go no more.

-So much for escaping! - She furrowed her brow, sneering bitterly. There was no way she could fight it, not after all the time in its little deadly fun house, and no room to steer around it. -Is this really how it ends? Fine with me! -

A familiar chill ran its icy touch up her back when that growl assaulted her ears. Quickly, she threw the shifter down a few notches till it rested beside the capital D. Her hand worked the window down easily enough.

"YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE TO WORK FOR YOUR MEAL!" she shouted.

She let a boot rest firmly on the brake while the other rode heavily on the gas. The orange needle on the tachometer jumped, arching quickly over to the other side as the motor devoured more fuel. Thank God Sadie wasn't here.

The freak, on the other hand, leaned its head back, pushing its burly chest out, and it let gravity yank its jaw open. It reached to the sky with its natural hand, making like a beak with its fingers before it… dived into its own mouth. It made a strange noise, a choking, gargling that made her want to cringe and did. The ribbed tube embedded in its throat moved--that piece of plastic actually moved--backing up into its mouth, past its lip. A spark flashed before her eyes, just outside that tube. A little flame shined at her, burning raggedly as the thing breathed out--

The freak arced its head back again, growling with a strange crackling as it puffed its chest out again, taking in the nice, clean air rather loudly….

"SUCK THIS, YOU FREAK!" she screamed, removing her boot off the brake. The back of her seat pressed against her own, keeping her there as the hummer shot off like a dragster. Her fingers wringed the wheel, and her boot kept the gas against the firewall as she closed in on her target. Whether she was back in cuffs or left in a canvas bag with a tag as her last toe ring, she didn't care. That freak wasn't hurting her or anybody anymore!

The freak let out a terrible shriek--

--"The F--!?"

--And flames consumed the windshield completely. Reds and oranges swirled out from the center in a bright, menacing light show, lapping at her skin hotly as a few hot wisps fluttered into her window. The hard pane before her lost its rigidity in an instant like the metal that held it in place, melting onto the dash in viscous globs--

--Like the one that dripped onto her leg.

She shrieked, yanking the wheel off target along with the rest of the car. The blob of glass cleared before her in an instant, her wincing eye catching the freak just mere feet away before it swerved out of sight. And the ground seemed to swirl on top, the blue sky underneath the wheels--and the metal above her cried out in a terrible screech.

"Oh SHIT!!"

---

Little brother made like a good boy, taking down that wench like it were nothing. Yet it didn't change anything; her friends had come for her, and still his men couldn't punch a cone of copper through either of them. Surprising, of course, but it was not completely unexpected. Predictable like moths to the flame, circling hypnotically while the flyswatter inched closer for them.

"And I feel like smacking something!" he chuckled grimly as he pushed his way through the gate. The boys were kind enough to let him onto the Temple Mount, though some took a little more persuading. The surprise, the sudden panic overwhelming them, beaming in their eyes. It was beautiful, and they feared no more thanks to a couple Mauser rounds.

"So this is what our neighbors had been doing with the holy site, huh?" he gazed heatedly at that accursed, golden dome. It mocked him, mocked all the Jewish people as it towered arrogantly over them, a testimony to the dirty-rotten-inbred-filth and the nations of this disgusting mud ball who let them have their way. "Disgusting."

Yet it was okay. With Solomon Rex, everything would be okay. The filth would be pilled in there one by one, rotting underneath and above each other, maggots and decay eating at them in between as that pompous dome became as it should have been: the gallows…!

"Just you wait, mongrels!" he cursed. "Just you wait…!"

Shots were banging out at his flank, shells ringing as they hit the ground close to where the Western Wall stood, a precipice at this height. A devilish smile crawled across his lips, and his combat load make a racket as it slipped off his arm. Pieces of metal twitched and shifted--and the rapier shot out with a -POP-. The virgin blade glinted sharply as it basked in the natural light. His trusty kukri slipped out a little quieter.

He went through the brush easily enough, keeping low to the ground, minimizing movement only to the limbs that needed more control. The sun graced his twisted face as he quietly pushed the last branch aside. For once, the burning ball in the sky actually felt pretty nice, his wobbly body floating just a little bit higher--

--But a sudden gunshot brought him down to earth again. Sure enough, the Asian and his trophy girl were by the holy precipice, taking cheap shots at his men from the sanctity of the holy site as though his men actually gave a damn.

Boldly, the stealth simply drained from his body as he stood up proudly, the green brushing against each other, tiny switches cracking underfoot. Walking rather smugly out of the brush, the girl nearly jumped out of her skin when she caught sight. Delicious, it was, yet the Korean couldn't be bothered to make a sound, not even a grunt. It was very disappointing, to say the least.

"Well, well, well…!" A smirk inched across that stone face smugly. "Who do we have here? Something not even my cat would have dragged in."

"Right back at you, Bin-Mok." He frowned. "Can't I ever catch a break?"

Those lips dropped back into that thin, neutral line. "Not from me."

"Will you goody-goodies ever learn your lesson?" he said rhetorically. "You can't win! No one can stop me now! Not even you, Mr. -Kimchi-!"

"Cut the crap, Drazen!" Yune pushed himself to his feet--only to cower back into a crouch as a volley kicked up another cloud of dust beside. Uzi couldn't help but hold out his hand to his men. They've done their job and quite well, he must say. "Whoa--!"

"Yeah!" the trophy girl shot up to her boots. "What kind of man are you, Drazen!? You think you're so great, creeping out of the shadows like the boogeyman! Why should anybody fear you? You're just a coward!"

"Um…!" he put the virgin blade to his chin, mockingly in thought. "I don't recall I was addressing you, little girl! Do you truly wish to have a repeat of -Yom Shishi-?"

The girl growled at him cutely, backing herself up behind her man.

"You American women are pathetic!" He smirked. "This was the country that defeated Germany twice; that freed my people from the death camps, that now tells my people to play nice with those degenerates next door?"

Weakness, he despised it as much as the mongrels next door. Pathetic truly, just like all of her sex, talking the big talk till push comes to shove. Then they need some man to pull them out of the grave they just dug. Maybe it was time for Ms. Thing over yonder to learn her lesson the hard way, just like her friend down below. A go-around with G never did any body harm, harm that they never lived to tell about anyway.

"Rosie the Riveter?" he laughed. "Ha--! More like Suzie the Sniveler nowadays! 'We can't do it…!' Ha-ha-ha…! Now be a good little girl, and keep your mouth shut!"

"What do you want!?" Yune pushed himself to his feet once again, body taking up a stance that was so deeply ingrained. "Come to shoot off that big mouth of yours, or did you actually come to fight?"

"What do I want?" he threw the question right back. "Come now. What kind of question is this? You wish to stop me, yet you still have no idea of my intentions? Disappointing, Bin-Mok! I expected a little more out of you--!"

"Like I ever gave a damn what the Drazen family thought!" the Asian growled.

"Temper-temper, Bin-Mok!" he smirked. "Can't tell you how much fun it is, watching the protagonist squirm! Just like dear old Dad used to do… before someone shot him to pieces--!"

A pup barked out again, but wisps of dust didn't reach up to the sky beside him. No, the loud gun barked out behind him, far behind him. With a step back, his waist turned easily for the commotion.

Below on the ground, past the security gates sat one of his vehicles, on its roof like a baby turtle, the front half of it burning--consumed by fire! Fire lapped for the sky, curling around the hummer's grill, smoking black clouds pluming just beyond the reach of the flames. Small blasts of light, shaped like stars, flickered with a solid clap each time from the driver's window. And his little brother took it like a man, taking the brunt of the resistance as he rolled closer to his target, splotches of crimson soaking his back, red trailing him inch for inch.

"Look at her!" he smirked. "Still resistant, defiant to the last! Very commendable, but she just doesn't know when to give up. She'll run out of ammunition long before my friend takes a fall. He's got some fabulous abs on him!"

"What the hell is that thing!?" The blonde girl yelped aptly like a puppy dog.

"Didn't you hear me?" he replied. "He's my friend. A loyal friend, a hungry and determined fellow out to get his man or woman to the bitter end by any means necessary. And it looks like he's got his sights set on your auburn chum. There's not much she can do about it, I'm afraid. But if she were to give up outright, maybe he could forgo his dinner tonight."

"Forget this punk!" the bitch yipped again. "Kim doesn't stand a chance against that thing!"

"To Hell with you, Drazen!" Yune retook control of his body, standing it up straight. "Come on, T. Let's go!"

The girl bent at the knees, hoisting up the .50-cal with a cute, little huff. He simply crossed the kukri over the framework that held his rapier, scooting his legs apart to an appropriate width.

"Move, Drazen!" the Korean said forcefully.

"Oh no, no, no, no, no, Mr. Bin-Mok!" He smiled brightly. "You're not going anywhere till the good Major, i.e. me, says different! Since I know me better than anyone, that'll be over my big, dead ass!"

"Don't make me beat that ass in front of a lady!" Yune pressed.

"If Kimberly's dead," the blonde girl yipped pathetically, "I'll fillet you and that freak on wheels!"

"That's a tall order!" He smirked. "Her mouth can write a pretty big check, Yune. But can your fists cash it?"

"Bet your ass, I can!" the Korean withdrew his Daewoo. It made a clatter on the ground, skittering behind him on the rough stone, scraping to a stop at the toe of the blonde's closest boot. His fingers made like a spear, diving into his pocket. It slipped back out a moment later, hand clenching firmly what appeared to be a paring knife; the kind he often saw in a kitchen chopping block.

"Be careful…!" the blonde whimpered.

"I know, T." Yune nodded.

"Come now, Bin-Mok!" he smiled as he took up an apt stance. "Show me what you got!"

---

Uzi took a nice trip… at least a 50-foot drop off the Temple Mount onto the nice, hard ground below. Crimson leaked from him, his good eye caught, oozing between pebbles and chunks of stone, leaving them with its unmistakable trace as it trickled by. The closest pair of familiar eyes boggled, overwhelmed with perplexity.

What was so hard to comprehend, he thought. That damn German bitch made him out to be a sucker; he could see so easily how one of her feet swooped a little too close to his noggin, just as he was about to deliver the final blow. He should have known better.

"Major Drazen?" that familiar man inquired, his feet taking their time as they took turns in front of each other. "Major Drazen, are you--?"

The man got his answer as he pushed himself to his feet. His peg leg took a little more persuasion; it squeaked in protest as he brought it around.

"Thank God!" the man breathed in sweet relief. "For certain, I thought you were--!"

"What--are you doing!?" he snapped, his head making likewise as it whipped around. Drops of dirty crimson flung off his face, arcing in midair before they dropped out of site. The man jumped startlingly. "What are all you clowns doing!? Forget about me! KILL THOSE TWO FAGGOTS!!"

"But Major--!" the man couldn't finish.

He wouldn't let him. "NOW!!"

"But Major Drazen," the man feebly replied, "they escaped!"

"Escaped!?" he blinked irritably. "What do you mean 'escaped'!?"

"I mean," the man replied a bit more lithely, "they escaped, Sir. Poof! Right into thin air!"

"Did you geniuses check the trees?" he frowned. "They probably scampered up them like some goddamn squirrels!"

"No sir!" the man replied again. He seemed to shift and warp, bubbling huge and thickly like a pit of tar, as did the world around him. The wall, the vehicles, the security gates, everything! It was that time of day again! "If they did such, we would have definitely seen it down here. Sir, please understand, you were knocked unconscious for over an hour!"

"An hour, you say?" he tried to blink some sense back into his head.

"Yes, Sir." The man said. "We've had a team up there for about an hour. They found nothing."

"Oh, little fishy, how you escaped my hook!" he rolled his eyes… slowly. "Great…! Fucking great! Tell me we still got the prisoner."

"Of course, Sir!" the solider nodded. "It took a little physical persuasion on G's part, but we recaptured her!"

"Good." He nodded weakly. "Excuse me if I don't dance for joy. Rough trip, you know."

"We know." The man nodded back.

"Super." He smirked. "Now, take me to her!"

"Yes, Sir!" the solider saluted.

"Get my machine gun back!" he said. "And find my FUCKING TEETH!!"

"Of course, Sir!"

---

The freak gazed at her with a selfish, heinous gaze, lusting eagerly for her crimson and her raw flesh. Its own crimson leaked from the many holes that had been drilled into it, trickling down its body, pooling around its tubes of organic nastiness. That steel jaw dropped slowly, the thick belly of its blade slick with leech saliva. So what was keeping it? Her head was snug tightly in its talon, the rest of her dangled from it like fresh meat on a thick, steel hook. All it would take was one firm squeeze, just one.

"Go on!" she growled. Everything in her body winced, cringing as her lips ran over that nasty steel--copper like. So much so that she couldn't tell if it were really metal or if she were bleeding. "Do it! If you're going to kill me--KILL ME!"

The freak hissed at her. The stink was intense, so much that she thought she had been stripped down to the four other senses.

"Not so fast, G!" Its big brother called as the man of the hour came hobbling closer. "You'll spoil your dinner."

Uzi was mess. Blood, his own dirty blood was smeared across the left side of his face, blackening gradually. A couple of his pearly whites were missing, two square holes in his shiny grill with crimson bubbling and dripping out of. A little patch of red blossomed in the olive at his flank, just like her.

"So Yune couldn't finish you off, huh?" she snarled. "A shame, really. He must have been feeling generous--!"

The Major vanished--but a sharp, gnawing pain in her gut gave her a clue where he was.

"Still with your crass quips and pith, Possible?" the punk growled, backing away, hobbling back into sight. "A defense mechanism concealing such inadequacy, I see! And after today's little fiasco, you really must have lost it!"

"The way I figure it, Drazen," she mumbled, "someone upstairs must like me! Even though they failed, my friends still came for me! And that's a hell of a lot more than I can say for you, Drazen! I've seen it all before, plenty of times: when the going gets tough, the tough always get going!"

"Only in your wildest daydreams, Possible!" Uzi smirked. "This tough guy isn't going anywhere! And make no mistake, Possible, that you'll be -going- far before that ever happens!"

"Major Drazen!" a soldier beside him called. "What are our orders, Sir?"

"Pack everything up!" the Major put a deliberate kink in his bloodied brow. "We're going home! With the exception of Lieutenant Bonnet, I want to RTB within the hour! Make sure he turns in his weapon before we leave."

"Yes Sir!" the solider saluted.

"Well, Possible!" Uzi shot at her with a broken grin. "Are you ready for another night of fun with the G-man here?"

"Drazen," she sighed, "I've only got one thing to say!"

"Oh really?" he angled his head, interest feigned obviously. "What's that?"

"You've got red on you!" she chuckled softly--but pain again stabbed at her gut at the bloody man's demand. "OH…!"

"Touché!" the Major hobbled back into sight. "Now pack her up! I don't want to see her till we're back at base! -Oh… - and get me some more damn scopolamine!"

-Motion sickness…! - Her mind exclaimed for her.

"Yes Sir!" the soldier saluted again, turning on a quarter as he strolled away.

"And G…?"

The freak grunted--only to yelp painfully as his big brother smacked him one with the sword, the blade angled conveniently at it. Uzi angled it away, a thin trail of monster blood coating the shiny belly.

"Why'd you have to torch the car?" the metal head asked cynically. "THAT WAS A GOOD FUCKING CAR!"

"Whoa…!" she chuckled. "You actually fuck cars? No wonder why you're so screwed up--!"

Pain burrowed its way deeper into her gut again. It didn't take a genius as to why.

"-Oh…! -"

"You done yet, bitch?" Uzi growled.

"Aw--yeah…!" she coughed. "I'll save some for later!"

"Good!"


	32. Chatper 32

32

"I can't believe we just left Kim to die, Yune!" Tara yelled as though he was completely oblivious to the events that had transpired over the course of the hour. "I thought we were going to help her!"

"We were." He nodded gently. He eased the shifter into third, feeling the gear catch as his foot rode heavier on the gas. The Peugeot took some getting used to, but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle. "But what can I say, T? Shit happens! She was surrounded, and we had little ammo!"

"But still!" T protested. "We could have done something! I could have shot!"

"Tara, dear." He forced the car into fourth. "I don't think we could have done anything different, even if we could go back in time! We might as well have thrown gasoline on a bonfire!"

"But there had to be something we can do!" She pressed.

"The only thing we can do is hope for the best." He shrugged. "And hope that Ron manages to pull one heck of a rabbit out of his bag of tricks!"

"I guess so." She sighed. "But are we still on for tonight?"

"Yeah." He nodded, downshifting, turning the wheel for the next street. It wasn't too far from Robin's apartment. Maybe some good news waited for their return. If not, then there's nothing that another shower couldn't hurt. "To the best of my knowledge. Though we may want to clean up first."

"Yeah," she nodded again, "but what are we going to do when we're there. If that Bonnet person sees either of us, we're dead!"

"If Ron should fail," he said solemnly, "then it's up to us. And we can't rescue Kim or report Uzi's GHQ if we don't know where they are. That's where Mr. Bonnet comes into play."

"And what makes you think that he's just going to tell us straight, huh?" Tara folded her arms crossly. "Just because you've got a pretty smile means they're going to squeal like a stuck pig?"

"Actually, yes!" He grinned. The car cycled through the gears yet again, the pommel angling to the other side of the console at the car's need. "Back in Colonel Drazen's outfit, I used to be with interrogation till I got sick of Tristian's bullshit and his sadomasochism! A few sessions with me, Bonnet will start spilling. On this, you can trust me!"

"Yune." He heard her voice as well as her backsides shifting in the seat. She was gazing at him, eyes brimming with a solemn soberness, when he stole a glance. "Whatever happened to that Uzi punk?"

"Are you serious?" he blinked. "What do you mean, T? You're the one who just kicked him upside his head."

"I -am- serious, Yune." She said. "What happened to him? He seemed like a halfway decent person back when his daddy was alive, just someone who got involved with the wrong people and wrong money or something!"

"I wouldn't say decent as I would obsequious and cowardly, T." he sighed. "Uzi today was just like Uzi yesterday and the day before. He can kill anyone, anywhere, and at anytime. Ron would have found that out the hard way. You think his hatred brewed overnight? I can tell you different. He's always held hostilities towards anyone with a just a hint of Arab lineage, just hardly ever showed it. The Colonel and his eldest son smacked him around when he did.

"Now that his daddy's out of the way," he continued, "he's got his imposing battle dress uniform, got his many guns, his militia, and just like clockwork, he's become just another overcompensated tough guy!"

"I guess so." T straightened herself in the seat. "But why don't I think all the baggage came from his time in his daddy's organization?"

"Rumors had been floating around the Drazen family for years, Tara." He explained. "It's nothing new. Ever since the old man's betrayal, they've been approached with nothing but suspicion and hysteria. Some say that The Progeny were not born of this world, but from another-whatever the hell that's supposed to mean, like aliens or something. Some say that a couple of the children were not meant to be, that they were alive only due to a botched abortion. There are countless others too, but I typically don't believe them."

"Crazy people…." Tara sighed. "Amazing what humans can do to each other."

"Yep." He nodded. "And to think, this could have all been avoided if one fat, pompous general simply lived and let live."

"Whatever happened to that pig, any-who?" she asked.

"He's serving time in the brig, last I heard." He shrugged. "Faced with a huge reduction of rank and a dishonorable discharge, I wouldn't be surprised if he simply wanted to spend the rest of his life in there."

"It's easy to run and hide, isn't it?" She said rhetorically. "To simply run away, and forget everything wrong that had transpired. Yet no matter how far you go, how far you run, it will always catch up with you. It'll haunt you for the rest of your days."

"Getting profound, aren't we, T?" he grinned. "So cute when you try to."

"After all this crap is said and done, you just can't help it." She chuckled. "Or can you?"

"I guess so." He shrugged. "But we're sick of playing defensive. Tonight, we're taking the fight to them!"

"Amen to that." She nodded.

"So you know, T," he squeezed the pommel of the shifter, "we might be in for some rough times ahead if we go through with this. I may even have to drag you into a battlefield. I need to know now."

"Know what, Yune?" she asked.

"Are you with me or not?" he nodded. "I won't hold it against you either way, but I need to know now. Would you rather sit on the sidelines, or would you rather participate in this blood sport-and trust me on this, T: sooner or later, things will get messy!"

"Yune…." She said, her voice sober, thick with a certain graveness that underpinned her resolve, whatever path it was. "Baby, I've been in this mess since you broke your arm on our way back from the range, since I boarded the plane for Prague with you. I've been there with you when we heard that god-awful klezmer, when I got my butt kicked by the metal head himself. I've been there when we dodged his 'copter, and I'm here with you when we tried to save Kim. Hell-I even threatened to kill her if you came back in a body bag!

"In these past few days, we've been through a whole lot, Yune, and I'm still here! I'm talking to you right now, in this seat instead of by a phone."

"But why are you here?" he asked-only to feel her smoother, finer palm press on the back of his right hand while it rested atop the shifter. "Huh…?"

"Because I love you, you big dip!" she smiled. "How can I be any clearer? After all the crap we've been through, I wouldn't be a very good one if I wasn't."

"This is true." He felt his chest tingle with a soothing warmth, a welcome warmth at that.

"I love you, Yune." She said.

"I love you too, Tara." He couldn't help but grin.

"Now, are you ready to save the day together or what?" she squeezed his hand firmly. It felt a little awkward as he moved the stick up to fourth.

"We shall, T." he nodded. "We shall…!"

-

Uzi felt sick as a dog.

Everything around wouldn't stop bubbling and boiling, spinning drunkenly on a broken axis as it always did. Yet not even a quick shot of scopolamine could calm the crazy world around, couldn't cease its rolling boil down to a gentle simmer. The car ride was longer than usual, thanks to that fiery, rambunctious bitch; maybe it was carsickness….

He didn't really give a damn anyway. The bed parked in his room was calling for him like a siren after an unlucky sailor. How eagerly he wanted his luck to change for the worse right about now.

"You think you got me licked, Drazen?" that loud, obnoxious cow shouted as the good men manhandled her out of the nearby vehicle. It was making him sick as did that rank, sickly-sweet stench of crude oil. The sound of her voice made his throat tremble in ailing while it bounced around the refinery. Thankfully G's truck made it back to base ahead of everybody else. "Do YOU?"

"I might as well have, Possible." He shrugged. "Or is it WKD4496? To tell you the truth, I just really don't give a damn anymore!"

"Well you haven't, Drazen!" the auburn yelled while a hefty underling hoisted her up onto his shoulders. He remembered vaguely that there was a full moon tonight as her olive-dressed behind bounced with every step the big man took. "Not by a long shot! I'll find another way out, you ass! Sooner or later, you'll let your guard down! And when that happens, you can say hello to all those people you killed-BECAUSE I'LL SEND YOU TO HELL TO MEET THEM!"

"That sounds like a threat, little lady!" he smirked weakly.

"So incisive today, aren't we?" she huffed.

"We can't have that can we?" he said rhetorically. "And give my brother my best, would you darling? While you still can, anyway."

The woman made a sound, something like a dumb man's T. Something wet slapped the ground, he saw as it had dived out from in front of the man and splashed onto the catwalk. A few bubbles protruded out of the tiny spot only to pop not even a second later.

"Someone needs her bib." He chuckled.

"Fuck you, pig!" she cursed.

"And have a nice rest of your life as well." He grinned, shooting her bouncing butt not even a half salute. "While you still can."

Another bit of wench water slapped onto the thick grating, foamy bubbles and all.

"What the hell is she, a camel?" the closest underling said to no one in particular.

"She's going to be dead meat by tomorrow morning." He said. "One way or another."

"Well, Major Drazen," the underling said, "what should we do with her? Should we squeeze her for more information, or what?"

"No." he shook his head slowly. "I'm in no mood for anymore of her bull. Wasting our resources on her would just annoy me!"

"So that means…."

"Yes," he nodded, "she's history-but not right now! I'd like to prolong her suffering for as long as I can. Tank Man would have a blast, I know. Either way, I want some of her bones on my desk by midnight! I'll personally mail them to her folks. It'll show this disgusting ball of mud what happens when you try to derail providence!"

"Enlighten me, Sir." The underling said.

"I don't want to enlighten anyone, solider!" he groaned. "I just want to take a nap, and maybe get a little drunk."

"But just answer me this one question, Sir!"

"Dude-when you're the commandant of your own army, you don't have to enlighten anybody."

"But would you consider today's outing a success, Major Drazen?"

"What are you?" he sneered gently. "Gay?"

"No Sir." The underling shrugged. "I'm just a man who's been stuck on garbage detail for the several hours."

"Soldier, unless you've been cleaning house under a rock, I think one can say that my little diversion hadn't gone completely according to plan." He let his eyes take their time as they circled around his sockets. "That bitch's still alive, her friends got away, I lost some good men out there, and on top of all that, I looked like a complete dip-shit on world wide television!"

"You're right, Sir." The soldier nodded. "But there's another little problem."

"Oh boy…!" he sighed exasperatedly. "I can't wait to hear this."

"You made Mr. -Putz- scarred, Major Drazen."

He blinked. "What are you talking about? I always make that joke flip his lid."

"Yeah, but you really pushed him this time." The man continued. "It's been blaring on the networks ever since you left Jerusalem: local, national, and even international news has been all over it, possibly for even longer than the short amount of time they typical give Israel!"

"What is it?" he moaned.

"Sir, there are talks circling around the Knesset!" the soldier replied. "They're going ahead with their plan! The plan for a complete turnover of the Temple Mount!"

"So?" he shrugged. "That's going down -Shabbat, right?"

"Not anymore, Sir."

He blinked again. "Say what?"

"They're moving the whole rigmarole to tomorrow afternoon!" the man continued. "They wanted to keep it hush-hush till tomorrow morning, the late morning at that. They figured we'd have our hands full after today's little stunt, so we couldn't do anything! Plus with the Palestinian Chairman's sudden passing, they want this PR nightmare behind them as soon as possible! "

"-Dreck-" He cursed. "You mean to tell me that piece of shit's finally gone? He's finally Satan's bitch after all these years?"

"You can say that again, Sir!"

"Well isn't this great…!" He dismissed.

"I guess." The man shrugged. "Under any other circumstances, Sir."

"Exactly, but this whole Temple Mount mess…." he pondered it aloud for a second. "If it was -so hush-hush, how'd you get word of it?"

"By complete accident on the government's part." The man said. "Not too long after they aired the story about Chairman -I'm-A-Rat-. They naively thought we were without radio or television, and an opportunistic reporter from the BBC thought blew it wide open for us. He thought he was going to get a Pulitzer, but now he's looking forward to some jail time and a good old fashioned ass kicking!"

"So the Bitching British Corporation is good for something after all!" he chuckled. "He ought to be commended."

"But something's not right with this whole thing, Sir."

"I know." He nodded. "They know we don't give a damn about the legality of anything! So why not simply come after us, or have the precious Americans do it for them? They know the last Drazen child's alive; they ought to be out for us hand-in-hand and in full force!"

"That could also mean top-secret talks between both countries' leaders!" the soldier said.

"The leak must have been intentional!" he put a finger to his chin. "It's one of the oldest tricks in the book: bait to lure us out, so whatever efforts are in the works can pick us off easily. By God, thisbase will not be our gallows, not if I have anything to do about it!"

"But we don't know what plans are in the works, even if there are any, Sir." The soldier said.

"I know." He nodded. "Something's going down at the highest levels! If we only knew what!"

"Yet we don't."

"Right." He said. "Solomon Rex is complete, yes?"

"Correct, Sir." The man nodded. "The crews have been loading and fueling him up all day, making some last minute tweaks here and there. Overall, we've been nut-and-bolting-it all day, making sure everything's operational."

"Is it?"

"Yes, Sir!" the soldier nodded again. "At last report, all systems are good to go."

"Good." He nodded. "His maiden voyage is just around the bend. What of my new delivery system?"

"Oh-that's right. The Doc sent me to tell you that it's almost complete. He just needs you for a final test fittings… and you may want to have that checked out, Sir."

"Check what out?"

He let gravity pull his head down by the shards. The man answered him with a simple point to his abs. A red stain, blackened to a sickeningly, scabby brown, had blossomed out of the left oblique… where that bullet drilled itself in at the command of that other bitch.

"-Dreck-" He cursed again. "It tore open!"

"The Doc told me of that woman's blow up." The man said. "I know duct tape is the greatest thing since sliced bread, but Major, you need stitches-real stitches!"

"Even real ones tear open!" he sighed. "Forget about it. I'll deal with it myself. If Eli's still alive, send him to my room!"

"Yes sir!" the soldier saluted aptly.

"Dismissed!"

-

"I thought I told you three stooges to stay put!" Ariel grumped, her head pressed against the knuckles of her hand whilst she loomed over her workstation. "Moe" of the group let out a sigh predictably. "But maybe that was too complicated for you!"

"Look on the bright side, Hershel:" He replied. "At least Larry and I got back safe and sound. Curly Joe's a little tied up right up right now, enjoying some of the sights!"

"Listen, you ass!" she frowned. "Possible would be relaxing right next to you if it weren't for your little stunt!"

"Nope!" the Asian replied. "She'd be shot to pieces, choking on her own pooling blood against the Wailing Wall. My team would be a man down, and Drazen would still have clear head on his shoulders. He took quite a trip down the wall, I must say! Thick head first to -boot-"

She growled.

"I'm sorry." Yune said bitterly. "I thought I was talking with a human being here. Then again, the line's pretty thin if you're going to keep foaming at the mouth!"

"It wasn't your place…." She straightened herself properly in her chair.

"Our place?" Yune batted it back. "NOT OUR -PLACE? What the hell are you smoking over there, Hershel? When one my people's in serious danger, YOU CAN BET YOUR ASS IT'S MY PLACE!"

"We would have had a team together in a few minutes!" She replied. "We could have done a more efficient job! We could!"

"Should-a, would-a, could-a…" The Korean moaned, "YOU DIDN'T DO-A!"

"Now who's being a bulldog?" she frowned.

"Right…!" the man sighed. "Fact is that we were at the right place and the right time. Kim's lease on life had been extended, thanks to us!"

"And what makes you so sure that she'll live tomorrow?" she asked.

"That's just it." He explained. "I'm not. But at least we made sure that her life didn't end in front of a live audience. We bought her some time, and it's up to her whether she'll use it or throw it away completely."

"That sound like a real friend talking, Bin-Mok." She couldn't help but smirk a bit.

"That's because it -is- a real friend talking, Hershel." Yune laughed. "Any more news on that weak signal?"

"Nothing yet." She shook her head. "We've tried narrowing the area down to possible locations, but it led us to a dead end. Townsfolk in Elat won't talk, got full of hardliners that love nothing more than to see our neighbors turn into a giant, smoking crater. And I, for one, do not completely disagree with that."

"Super…!" Yune groaned. "I heard just recently that the PA Chairman finally kicked the bucket."

"Yes, that's right." She nodded, the utter joy eloquent not in her concise reply. The world's man of the year coincidently was Jacob's Devil, a personal Beelzebub sending out his demonic minions in swarms to devour the innocent. Thankfully the good Lord finally struck down that incarnate of the underworld that soiled His Promised Land with his bloody hands. "What about it?"

"Is the world ready to come crashing down on you?"

"Not just yet." She replied. "But it's close. Yet speaking of crashing suppressed jubilations, do you want to take a wild guess who's calling me every five minutes?"

"Your friendly, neighborhood US ambassador?"

"The one and only." She graciously let her eyes take a lap around her sockets. "Since 'The Major' went public with his identity, he hasn't stopped calling! Or is it yelling? Been on the phone all evening, I can't even tell the difference."

"What's he saying?"

"That if we don't round up Drazen and turn him over to US Custody," she sighed, "that they'll take him by force, and take down anyone trying to stall or stonewall."

"Invasion?" Yune exclaimed predictably.

"If you come down to it," she growled, "yes! And here's the kicker!"

"Can't wait to here this…."

She took in a deep breath, letting it swell in her lungs as her chest pushed out. She wanted to laugh; the Ambassador's threat was so off-the-wall, that she just wanted to pop! But she didn't, and the air escaped from her in a quiet blow.

"If we don't surrender Drazen within a couple days time," her fingers rubbed her crown firmly, "the US will draft and push for a resolution at the next meeting of the UN Security Council, authorizing the use of force and 'peacekeepers'-oxymoron of the century, if you ask me-against Israel. Under US supervision, of course, but that doesn't mean anything when the bullets start flying."

"WHAT?" Yune exclaimed. She was right; the threat was -unconventional- after all.

"You heard me." She nodded. "And your people know how much the Israelis -love- that organization-well, the smart Israelis anyway! It's the American Left's way of sticking it to us, I guess-or as a 'goodwill gesture' to our neighbors after the BAD Chairman's passing. One of the two, take your pick!"

"But-But…!" he stammered. "A mere ambassador can't do that!"

"Apparently, he can!" she nodded. "We've received word that the Prime Minister had just gotten off the phone with the White House. And the rhetoric doesn't bode well…!"

"What'd he say?"

"It's classified." She said. "I can't tell you -exactly- what The President said. The administration doesn't exactly see eye-to-eye with the UN, as you know, but since word of Drazen reached him, he'll do anything and everything to catch or kill him!"

"Including an all-out invasion?" he exclaimed.

"So much for alliances!" She shrugged. "Not like that's anything new."

"This could completely destabilize the region!" Amazing really, how nothing gets by this foreign-born American. The same can be said for his countrymen, possibly. "It could drag the entire world into war!"

"Nothing gets by you Americans, does it?" Her smirk tasted bittersweet.

"So what are you guys going to do?" Yune asked gravely.

"Us?" she laid back in her chair again, crossing her legs at the ankles, letting one of her heels slip out of her shoe. "Do what we always do, I guess. We're digging in here! We won this five times over, and by God we're going to try tokeep it."

"You're really going to fight the whole world?" He pressed.

"Nothing new on this part." She shrugged. "With certain -capabilities, I wouldn't fret over it. And you didn't hear that from me!"

"This is going to be one hell of a week, Hershel." Yune noted duly.

"You can say that again." She nodded. "I have to go now. I know I can't control you guys, but whatever you'll do, do try to be discreet."

"I hear you." He agreed. "Take care."

"Bye."

She took the phone away from her face. It made a typical clatter as she laid it to rest down upon its cradle. She laid her hands atop her belly, giving her eyes a rest as her lids fell over them. She couldn't help but think of that Korean, how right he was…

"This week…." Her thought pushed its way out of her yawn. "What a mess…!"

"Ms. Hershel…?" Tuvia called for her, though he was about as far as her office's door. "Oh-Ms. Hershel? You asleep over there?"

"I was trying to…!" she batted her eyes. The chair squeaked piercingly as she swiveled around, tucking her legs under the seat while they swooped free of the desk. Tuvia looked as serious as ever, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed loosely. "It's been a long afternoon, you know."

"Yep…." He nodded.

"So, what's up?" Her brow perked. "Any news about our leak?"

"Nope." The man shook his head. "It's been pretty quiet since this afternoon. A little too quiet, if you ask me."

"You guys still scanning all the radio frequencies?" she asked.

"As always." He nodded. "No signs of a full onslaught yet. But we've intercepted communications from the VSA."

"How's that different than any other day?"

"Drazen's ordered all his men back to base, wherever that is." Tuvia shrugged. "Every single last one of them. Even ones stationed as far as the southern parts of the Golan."

"Seems our plan's working." She nodded. "He's consolidating all his forces for a massive strike."

"And how is that a good thing?" Tuvia frowned. "We're in the middle of a gangbang! We've got the US down our throats, and if we don't act soon, we'll have the UN up our butts!"

"There's nothing quite like getting it both ways, is there?" she said rhetorically.

Tuvia's eyes boggled, overwhelmed, his cheeks flushing with peachy red as realization dawned on him like a mid-summer morning. His lips pursed.

"Well-when you put it like that!" The man said.

For the first time today, she laughed.

"I need a bath after that comment." He unfolded an arm to wipe a hand across his brow. "Yuck!"

"So what's stopping you, good man?" she put a kink in her brow. "Any good news to share?"

"Nope." He shook his head. "Nothing yet. We probably won't have any till next week at this rate. By then, it'd be a miracle if we survive for that long."

"We need to have all our troops ready-and very soon, I might add." She sat up. The swivel squealed as she spun herself around. Her cursor took the lead, darting for the icon for her word processor. The desktop whirred to life as she fingered the mouse twice. "No time to lollygag anymore."

"Might I enquire as to what you're doing?" He asked.

"Writing my report!" her fingers danced upon their springy dance floor, dancing tap as soon as the program flickered on screen. "With some serious recommendations!"

"With our Prime Minister?" Tuvia said rhetorically. "It'd take weeks before we'd get a clear answer from him."

"Still, it's good to keep up appearances." She nodded. "Maybe this'll be the foot in his ass!"

"That depends." She said. "Does he know about our special ZIP disk?"

"Nope." He replied. "Thanks to your note to the Director, everybody kept it in-house, hush-hush and all that good stuff."

"Good." She said. "If the Prime Minister fails to act, we're going to have to bypass all the regular channels!"

"All of them?" Tuvia exclaimed.

"You heard me." She smirked. It was so fun to be a rogue sometimes. "Right now, we have to act like the latter. There's no more time for deliberations!"

"So what do you want me to do?" he asked.

"Use the disk, of course!" she said. "Have the guys down at S&T hack into the United States Proprietary Network, via Link 16. I want the Gladius weapon on stand-by, ready to go hot at a moment's notice as soon as possible!"

"But we need clearances!" Tuvia protested. "Not even yours can get us through! Paperwork needs to be filed, the brass has to give us a thumbs-up!"

"Blah-blah-blah-your- needs!" she rolled her eyes. "Just find the right people, do whatever it takes, pay whatever it costs!"

"You could lose your job over this, you know." He warned gently. "And then some!"

"So be it!" she exclaimed. "The hell we'll be the ones with our pants down!"

"And ass in the wind!" He finished. "All right, Ms. Hershel, if you really want to do this!"

"I do!" she nodded. A blank sheet flicked on before her just as her fingers typed off of the former page. "Not hop to it, sailor!"

"You know I was a Navy pilot!" he said.

"Whatever." She scoffed lightly. "Now get out of here, sailor!"

"Yes ma'am."

She wanted to laugh as Tuvia let out a hearty groan just as he stepped out of the room.

-

The world still mocked him, prodded him, jamming a splinter into his mind-his inner ear, most likely. It wouldn't stop bubbling… and spinning… and fading in and out. It wasn't just the stench back in the refinery-it couldn't be! That induced sickness never lasted this long!

-Must have fractured something…. -

But it didn't stop him from dressing his wound with a makeshift bandage. Duct tape was one of those miracle inventions. How could anyone live without it?

"Major Drazen?" Eli called for him through his door. So the stick man really was alive after all. He thought surely Galil tore him a new one after the wench's first escape attempt. "Major Drazen, are you there?"

"Enter." He turned his back on his desk, the chair squeaking louder than the hinges as the door pushed open. "Good of you to show. I was wondering if you actually were mincemeat for a minute."

Eli looked as stiff as ever, his thin body upright completely, standing at attention. Uzi simply rose up his hand, palm out. The man spread his legs a shoulder width apart, hands sweeping behind him as he stood at ease.

"May I enquire as to the purpose of this meeting?" Eli asked formally. It was a nice change of pace from that loudmouth bantering that typically bounced around the vast Organ Grinder. "Is it a reprimand perhaps?"

"No." he shook his head. "You're simply one of the few men that I can trust around here, 2nd Lieutenant. I'm in the dark when it comes to my men's morale, Eli. Typical two people usually informed me of the overall mood of the VSA amongst taking orders. But with Bonnet on leave tonight and with Sergeant Jude's untimely demise, I'm in need of a temporary liaison."

"Might I enquire as to why, Sir?" Eli asked, kinking his broad brow. "I'm a mere interrogator, and a rather messy one at that when your brother's around! I'm not much of a socialite, and I'm sure there are more -qualified- people than simply me, Major Drazen."

"One, Lieutenant JG Eli: I'm the Major of this private army!" he angled his head carefully. "Anything I say goes, with impunity! Two: you're one of the couple of officers on site currently."

Eli blinked thoughtfully. "This is true, Sir."

"It is true!" he smirked. "And besides a liaison, Lieutenant Eli, I need someone to give orders to the men. And that time is now!"

"Is there actually something that the good Major would like me to tell the men?" Eli asked. "Orders, perhaps?"

"They are orders indeed, Eli." He nodded. "You are aware of our complete withdrawal, are you not?"

"Yes, I had heard something about that from some of the men just a few minutes ago." The man nodded. "What of it."

"We're consolidating our forces, Eli." He smirked. "Ten to one, the Israeli government is expecting a strike from us over this whole Temple Mount mess. So I say we do not-disappoint!"

It was possibly the first time he'd ever seen the stick man's eyes go as wide as saucers.

"The Major is going to take on the military head-on?"

"You bet!" he beamed. "I want everyone of our men-or-women armed, ready to move out around 2AM! Now that our siege weapon is finally complete, we're taking him with us! The king will ascend to his rightful throne, at last! If it all goes well, the Israeli government and that dirty-rotten-inbred-filth won't know what hit them!"

"You really are going to take the military head-on!"

"And anyone else who gets in our way!" he pushed himself to his feet… stumbling a bit. "We're finally taking back what's ours, and in the likely event that we're going down, we're taking this whole goddamn region with us!"

"One giant banzai charge…!" Eli sighed. "Oh boy…!"

"That's negative thinking, 2nd Lieutenant." He said. "Think of it as an opportunity of -carpe diem, where our lives will finally have meaning!"

"Sir, are you absolutely, positively sure that you want to go through with this?" Eli asked. "Have you thought it through? I must say that this is a really risky move you're proposing!"

"Propose?" he blinked. "This isn't a proposition, Eli, this is an ORDER! I want every man and Solomon Rex ready to move out at 2AM! No excuses!"

"What about the girl?"

"What about her?" he threw it back. "I don't give a damn about her anymore. She's useless! I want some of her bones on my desk by midnight, bloody or clean, it doesn't matter! Just make her wish she was dead till the eleventh hour, then grant it!"

"Yes sir!" Eli saluted. "If that's what the good Major wishes!"

"I -do- wish it!" he frowned. "Now do it!"


	33. Chapter 33

33

Ron was hanging out… literally.

As long as he lived, he did not want to take another car ride on the wrong side of the vehicle. Though he caught a nice view of the underbelly, watching some of the cables twitch at the driver's demand (when grains didn't blow into his face), feeling the drive shaft's thrum assault his ears, it was clear that it simply was not built to accommodate at all. The rather large, lumpy rock the driver rolled over drove it home all too well.

As he carefully withdrew the radio, he thanked the good Lord that his pants managed to survive the trip.

"Nacho Man to -Kimchi," Ronald whispered into his radio, "Nacho Man to -Kimchi! Come in-Kimchi! I don't have all day, you know!"

"We read you loud and clear, Nacho Man." Yune's voice fought through the crackle. It wasn't anything that messing with the squelch knob couldn't fix. "What's your status?"

"Nothing much happening on my end-Kimchi-." He replied quietly. "Just hanging out, catching a nice view of the chassis on my end. I think the driver ran over a rather big rock too."

"And what makes you say that?" The Asian replied.

"Well-Kimchi," he shrugged sarcastically, "judging by the nasty scrape swelling on my backside, I'm not exactly sure! Damn thing nearly took my pants with it!"

"Just be grateful it didn't." the man replied.

"Time will tell, dude." He sighed. "Just as soon as the target and I are out safely."

"Speaking of, have you heard any word about?"

"Affirmative, good buddy!"

"HEY!" his secret weapon squealed, shifting around his burrow swiftly before he felt the pocket flap yank open.

"I mean my other good buddy!" He carefully angled his head towards his buddy, frowning. Rufus blinked those dark, beady eyes back at him, pulling what little lips he had down a little more than what they could naturally go. "Sorry little buddy, but the puppy-dog-pout is one of a kind."

Rufus narrowed his eyes, growling gently.

"Can you keep it down, please?" he asked.

"Like I was saying, did you hear any word about the target?" Yune pressed.

"As -I- was saying," he pushed back, "I have. The Major and some goon were talking about it, amongst other things. It sounds like she outlived her usefulness. They're planning on finishing her off by midnight!"

"And it's about seven-fifteen right now!" the Korean replied. "That gives you over four-and-a-half hours to get in, get the target, and get out. Do you have any idea what's your location?"

"Um…." He took in a breath of air… a deep breath of foul, dank air, so thick and so sickeningly sweet like cola syrup that he thought he was going to choke. He had smelled something like it before, like an oil-saturated landfill. Maybe it was in Detroit, New Jersey even…. "-Uh…- God, someone turn on a fan or something!"

"Well?" Yune pushed again.

"Um…." His head felt a little bit lighter than usual. "It looks like Jersey… and-uh… - it smells like an oil spill!"

"Be serious, Nacho Man!"

"I am serous!" he exclaimed quietly. "I can't see much on my end. All I know it was a hell of a long drive here, and there was a sudden downgrade in the road before it all came to a halt."

"So it's underground." Yune replied.

"I guess."

"You eavesdropped on the Major's conversation, right?"

"I did." He nodded.

There was a moment of relative silence they shared; it was a little hard to hear with the mechanical racket about.

"And…?" Yune asked.

"And what?" he blinked.

"Did he say anything important?" -Kimchi- sighed. "I hate it when I have to spell it out for you-damn! And this is the boy who shot Colonel Drazen to pieces!"

"He was yapping about some kind of story on the BBC." He replied. "Something about moving this whole Temple Mount shenanigan to tomorrow afternoon."

"Yes, I recall just seeing that on the TV."

"He also mentioned something called Solomon Rex." He continued. "He didn't say much about it, just that it was complete and the crews were busy fueling and loading it up."

"That must have been the siege weapon Hershel mentioned a while back."

"Has to be."

"Okay, Nacho Man." The man replied. "You have over four-and-a-half hours to do your stuff! Get the target to safety, if possible. And see what you can do about this Solomon Rex weapon, sabotage it, blow it up, whatever. Procure any weapons should you need them. You're armed, correct?"

"Yep." He nodded, gently giving that awkward lump in his other pocket a pat. "Got the revolver right here, with some speed loaders."

"Good."

"And what are you guys going to do in the meanwhile?" he asked.

"Don't worry about us, Nacho Man." Yune replied lightly. "We're going to crash some shmucks' band practice. Don't wait up for us."

"Rodger-dodger!" he nodded. "Over and out."

Robin was a blessing, she was. It was almost as if she had been put on this earth for this very purpose. Her Peugeot may not have been top of the line, but thankfully she had been moved to place some bungee cables in the back, the same ones that held him as the VSA unwittingly whisked him away to their base of operations.

They finally gave way to his weight with a sharp snap; he dropped a couple inches to the floor with a cough. The hooks rattled on the hummer's chassis while the severed cords slapped its underbelly. They really were flimsy, well used and the once thick braids were beginning to fray into threads and strings. Predictable, it was, even when Tara happened to find them. He was certain he'd be lost in the Negev by now… yet he wasn't. It was as though the hand of God had carried him with favor.

-God, if you're listening, thank you-

As much as he'd love to bequeath a proper prayer, he couldn't. There was so much to do and in so little time.

"It's going to be a -long- night!" he coughed.

-

Everything had seemed to withdraw itself from Shia. He felt groggy and disconnected, a serous case of medicine head though his stomach drugs included no such depressants. Maybe it was the drink; he did down a few screwdrivers along with a couple cape cods, no other or better way to down vodka, especially the triple distilled stuff.

Maybe taking up on Mr. U's deal wasn't the best decision after all. Somehow he knew it all along, and his last encounter drove it home like the final nail in the coffin. Was it possible somehow, someway that he could get out of the VSA? Probably not, so why even bother thinking along those lines.

But at least he still had Robin, currently serving his band mates some drinks. That frizzy ponytail, her beautifully rounded face, her perfectly crafted body; she was as beautiful since the first time he'd laid eyes on her. She could hardly speak a phrase of English back then, when she first stepped foot off the El Al flight, but thankfully her kin were bothered enough to teach her Hebrew. Everything simply came together not long afterwards.

"When I woke up this morning, I got out of bed…!" Mark sang disjointedly while his loose fingers brushed at the strings. His other set of fingers held the same strings at the same position close to the top of the fingerboard. "I went downstairs-to get myself SOME EGGS! But all the eggs were… uh… oh-ROTTEN, so I got in to my pickup truck to get myself SOME EGGS…! I went down to the McDonalds… to get myself SOME EGGS! The clerk at the counter was named Phyllis… and I got myself a bagel that has EGGS! Yee… HAW!"

"I think that you have had enough, Mark." Robin choked down a laugh while she quickly relieved Mark of the rest of his lager. It was such a waste, watching that golden liquid fall into the grated drain. "You were not even through your first one before you started to speak this gibberish!"

"Men of Shmuck Avenue!" Shia squinted as he put a perk in his brow, turning for his men. They were equally sloshed, the shofar player chuckling to himself hysterically while the didgeridoo player planted his face flat on the table. "I would like to propose…"

A glass shattered on the other side of the bar, breaking sharply as it hit the tiled floor. He turned back around; Robin held a hand to her mouth while he could easily see the whites of her big eyes.

"Well-hold on, Robin!" he blinked. "A toast, I propose! A toast! To Robin, my lovely girlfriend and who sweet-talked her boss into opening early-just for us!"

"HERE-HERE!" they exclaimed in unison, holding up their glasses.

She looked crestfallen. Her hands flopped at her sides while she curled into a slight hunch. Her sigh would have shot threw him like a FMJ on any other day, if we were sober.

"Don't worry, Baby." He squinted. "I still love you. I'm just not in the right frame of mind… nor is it the right time. All I want to do tonight is get drunk!"

"I will say you have done a fine job of that!" She frowned. Her mule made a clap on the tile when she stomped. "Why I bother with you, Shia, I do not think I will ever know! Look at yourself, you are tanked, stuck in that awful gang, and that ulcer will be the end of you!"

Mark laughed. "You make that sound like a bad thing…!"

"SHUT UP, MARK!" she and him shouted together.

"We did that together, Robin!" he noted. "It's a SIGN…!"

"I will tell you what, Shia." She replied. "Talk to me again when you are sober! If we truly wish to be together, then we need to sort some things out!"

"Like what, Hon?" he blinked slowly.

"I cannot continue living like this, Shia." She sighed. "I do enjoy myself with the material possessions you give me. Our apartment is wonderful, yes, and our Peugeot car drives like a dream. But what good is any of it if I cannot share it with my mate?"

"Uh…?" he couldn't help but scowl.

"Do you know how many sleepless nights I have when you are away?" she asked. "I have a lot of them. I have terrible dreams that I find you dead in a gutter. I wake up in the middle of the night, and you are not there to comfort me! Do you know what that is like, Shia Bonnet?"

"Uh…?"

"It is Hell!" she cursed. "I want you, Shia!"

"What?" He batted his eyes. "Right now? In front of the band, and with Joshua in the back?"

"Do not be dense, Shia!" she huffed. "You know what I mean! Shia, I love you, but if we want to be together, I want you out of that terrible militia pronto!"

"Well…." He nodded slowly. "I'm glad you brought that up, Rob."

"And why's that?" she crossed her arms.

"Because I was thinking the same thing." He said. "After this morning, Mr. U. drove home the reason why I even joined his army in the first place. Out of anger, hatred, for money-pretty much why everyone else joined with him. But now I see what you've seen for months, Robin. He is the Devil, king of the underworld pushing a little closer to heaven with drug money and violence. Avi lost his life for him today, and he has nothing but a dark, fiery eternity ahead of him."

"So you finally saw him for what he really is?" she placed her hands on the bar top, leaning for him. Her dark eyes brimmed with gravity.

"Yep." He nodded. "A monster… just as you said!"

He couldn't finish his sentence; Robin wouldn't let him as she pushed her lips against his. He felt one of her hands cup against the back of his skull, pushing him in deeper before she withdrew completely.

"Oh Shia-this is great!" she beamed, mules clopping on the tile as she hopped giddily. "But when do you plan on leaving the VSA?"

"That's just it, Rob." He shrugged. "I don't think I can."

"What?" she blinked. "What do you mean? Of course you can, Shia! You always have a say in the matter, regardless of who says different."

"No…." he shook his head. "I can't."

"Yes, you can!" he felt that warm, familiar feeling tingle inside when she placed her hands on his shoulders. "You always have a choice!"

He brushed them off-and the barstool screeched as he jumped to his feet.

"DAMN IT, ROBIN!" he shouted, so loud it even made Mark jump. Robin eased herself a step back. "I DON'T! I've done horrible things, Robin! Back when I had a free will, I chose to serve this dark master, and committed horrible atrocities in his name! I'm in so deep, I'll never see the light of day again!"

"YES, YOU DO!" she shouted back, moving toward him a step. "YOU HAVE ALWAYS HAD A CHOICE! YOU CHOSE TO GO WITH UZZIEL, YOU CHOSE TO DO THOSE THINGS, AND STILL YOU CHOOSE TO BELIEVE THAT YOU HAVE NO CHOICE! THAT IS BULLSHIT, SHIA! AND THE SOONER YOU REALIZE THAT, THE SOONER YOU CAN TAKE CONTROL!"

"You don't get it, Rob." He held out a hand in peace. "Maybe you will someday, but today… no!"

"What am I going to do with you?" Robin shook her head.

"Love him, fuck him…?" Mark suggested.

"Well yes, of course…!" Robin nodded-before those dark eyes went wide again. "Hey-wait a minute!"

The whole bar joined the chucklehead in a burst of laughter. The didgeridoo player managed to smack his head against the table again and again. He laughed too. When one is like golden drop in the beer tap of life, it was best just to go with the flow. Even Robin couldn't stifle herself.

The bell jingled loudly as the door pushed its way through, heels clacked softly upon the floor, loudening steadily as the hinges announced to everyone that the door was going to shut. The patrons of the bar he knew well, inside and out, his klezmer present and accounted for. Even Robin's brother had managed to lumber his big self inside for a moment before he vanished through the swinging door behind the bar. He couldn't help but to take a gander, shifting his head appropriately.

The door squeaked closed behind a knockout blonde, at least in his mind's eye, her skin barely a shade darker than the long, wavy hair swaying gently behind her small back. Two light blue eyes dotted her face above her button nose. A blue halter-top squeezed at her firmly, forming tightly against the curves of her torso. A black skirt draped off from her hips at the waist, reaching several inches above her knees. She had managed to squeeze her feet into a pair of tight pumps, pushing her heels off the ground by a couple inches.

Vague familiarity swept over him like the air circling down from the ceiling fan. That hair, that face, those baby blue eyes… so content and gentle, he had seen her before and he had a pretty good idea where. And if she was here…

-Where's her little love buddy…- His mind pondered.

"I'm sorry…." The blonde said softly. "Is this bar open? I just saw people inside, and I thought!"

"Um-do not worry, Miss…." Robin welcomed shakily. Shia took a glance at his woman; he couldn't help but catch that rather surprised batting with her eyes. Something was up. "Typically, this bar does not open for another few hours, but tonight, the manager was feeling rather generous! We even have the honor a klezmer here tonight! I am sure they will play a song, if you were to ask them."

"Don't worry, cutie…!" Mark was already on the hunt, catching that first scent of fresh blood in the dizzying sea of liqueur. "I'll sing you a song, all right! Why don't you back that sweet thing up, and I'll play you a little tune!"

"No thanks." If the blonde was cringing, she was hiding it well. "I just want a quick drink, then I'll leave."

"Are you sure…?" Mark said. "I could always sing about… uh…!"

"About what, Mark?" He chuckled.

"Like yesterday morning… for one!" Mark blinked. "Or infinity for that matter…! 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10…! Oh-an all time favorite! 'What the Hell's Grandma Looking At?' That has to be the greatest song I ever wrote, between long naps at my job at the grocery store and passing out drunk at home!"

"I always wondered when Shmuck Avenue would hit rock-bottom and now it's here!" Shia chuckled bitterly.

"Do not say that, Shia." Robin said comfortingly. "I am sure that you guys will be great someday, make it big even. But just not today."

"I know." He nodded.

"Excuse me…."

The blonde took to second stool beside him, letting her feet catch on the stool's support by the heels. Shia smiled confidently; the big man upstairs liked him, so he thought. He shouldn't throw away such a gift that God had given him. Robin and he were going to be free after all.

"I'd like a Heineken, please." The blonde said.

"But of course, Miss." Robin nodded. "Just so that you know, we do not have it on tap at the moment. We only have it in those keg cans. Is that okay?"

"Yep!" the blonde nodded back. "I like how they're shaped. It's just so cool! And given how I'm going back to America soon, I won't be able to touch the stuff for another few years at least."

"Ah… America…!" Robin said, turning for the bar. A glass rang briefly as she took it from the shelf while her other hand went for the mini fridge. "The land of opportunity, and overall tranquility! You should be grateful that your people do not have to live with the uncertainty that your friends and loved ones may not come home ever again."

"I guess so." The girl shrugged. "Though the big terror attacks changed everything. A smart man can never look at the Arab minority the same way again after that travesty! And still are those who are arrogant or completely oblivious to the danger."

"So why are you here then?" His woman asked as she stood back up. "By the way your big media paints this country, they make it look like the Balkans, and us a Serbs! Given recent events that have transpired, I understand why-but this has been going on since the recent uprising started!"

"I'll say!" Mark exclaimed. His drink jumped as his hard fist met the bar top. "They portray us as murderers-ethnic cleansers-and all that horseshit! All we ever did was try to help our neighbors to their feet! And how do they thank us? They stab us in the back with our very own weapons and aid, all because of their fearless leader and that ass-wipe ideology! I say no more! That Drazen character had the right idea!"

"But the wrong way of doing it!" Robin finished for him, setting the glass down before the blonde. The keg can let out a hiss as she forced it open. The blonde's eyes opened a bit wider as that golden brew fell into the glass. Hypnotic, it was as always. "Here you go. Would you like to pay now, or would you like to keep a tab?"

"Better keep a tab." The blonde turned on her stool seat, swiveling towards him. "With the way things are going, this could take a while."

"What could take a while?" He sat straight up, putting a kink in his brow. "Who are you?"

"My name's Tara." She smirked, taking a sip of her drink. "And I come from the United States of America!"

"I know you…!" he frowned. "So this is who Mr. U knocked the shit out of -Yom Shishi-"

The girl blinked predictably, making like a dumb blonde.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh-I think you do, Missy!" he growled. The blonde tried to remove her forearm from the tabletop, but he wouldn't let her. "Don't insult my intelligence! I know who you are!"

"What the hell are you doing?" She struggled. "Let go of me!"

"SHIA!" Robin yelled.

"What do you want from me?" she whined. "Money? I'll give you as much as I have! Just let me go!"

He smirked smugly.

"One way or another, you're letting me go!"

"Just let her go, man!" Mark interjected rudely. "Did you have too much to drink?"

"Oh no, no, no, no…!" he smirked bitterly. "She's not going anywhere till the good Major says so-and if I know him, that won't be for a long-LONG-time!"

"I don't want to hurt you!" she huffed cutely. "So don't push it!"

"You don't get it, Tara!" he smiled wickedly. "The VSA might as well run this country! Here, we make the rules! And here, WE make the threats!"

"Oh really…?"

Just as he suspected, the man of the hour had finally showed up. He would have liked to take a closer look at the bar's top, notice how the grain peeked through the dark stain and how it flowed with the rest of the structure on any other occasion. Yet the North Korean wanted him to see it as he felt that signature strong grip seize him by the curly top, slamming his face down upon it harshly. Never before did he feel his nose press so firmly against his face.

"-OH…! –" He moaned. His grip waned, and the blonde ripped her arm out of his hand.

"Hello stranger!" The Asian exclaimed.

"Rob!" He said loudly. "I think this man would like a jack!"

He then noticed how the grain of the bar top flowed lengthwise, curling and swirling around tree knots from one end to another as his forehead smacked against it again.

"OW!"

"You jacked us around enough, Shia!" the man shouted. "Where's Drazen?"

"What the shit are you talking about?" he lied. Opportunity was a mean bitch sometimes, always finding a way to knock him sideways when he least expected it. "How the fuck should I know? I'm just a simple lieutenant!"

"And his pilot and his second banana!" The blonde chirped in giddily. Girlfriends are bunch of sadistic little imps, laughing, jumping for joy as their beau or a big, overcompensated tough guy knocked the shit out of another. Sigmund-Freud-or whatever the Germans said; maybe the blonde knows! "You're probably even his love-buddy-or something! So spill!"

He felt his early dinner leap from his stomach, crawling its way up his throat as those words morphed into a picture before his mind's eye. With Drazen… naked-behind him, giving him the real business deal. It was sickening, though it might explain why he's feeble all the time….

"-Blah…-" He gagged. "Don't make me sick!"

"Tara," Yune said, "can you go wait outside for a while? This is going to get messy!"

"Oh… fine!" she huffed. "Always hogging the action for yourself, you big lug! Sometimes I wonder why I even bother with these little!"

"Tara…!" he pressed.

"Outside." She affirmed. "Gotcha!"

The clacking of her blocky heels followed her out when she hopped of her stool, a little sharper than the bell's ringing when the door swatted it again. Yune took the opportunity smack his face into the bar top again-and chairs and stools screeched against the floor as all of his mates jumped to their feet at once. Yune's hand ripped away from his hair-or was ripped away involuntarily.

"Hey buddy!" Mark leapt to his defense. "Leave Bonnet alone! Sure, he's the biggest -shmuck- you'd ever seen, but he's still one of us!"

"Yeah!" the didgeridoo player seconded-Michael, he remembered finally. "You screw with one -shmuck, asshole, you screw with the whole goddamn avenue for that matter!"

"Stay out of this, guys!" Yune typically threw his warning out. Sure it was weak, but it was better than having that Daewoo press against his head… or especially his gut!

"You'd better make as he -cheerfully- requests!" He exclaimed. "On this, you can trust me!"

"Fuck you, man!" Mark replied so formally. "And shut the fuck up, Shia! Let us do the talking!"

"As you wish!" he would have shrugged if the Asian didn't smack his head down again and kept it there.

"People!" Robin held up her hands in peace; he could see his African queen perfectly on the bar top's incandescent sheen. "People, please! Why must you overreact? Can't we simply enjoy ourselves in peace and quiet?"

"SHUT UP, ROBIN!" Mark shouted back. He'd pay for that later! "Go relax outside or something! We've got to teach this yellow devil here about some good old Israeli hospitality!"

"Can we simply get along here?"

"NO!" came everybody else's reply.

"Best if you do as they ask, Robin." He nodded, wiping his nose against the countertop. "This is going to get messy!"

"Fine!" she huffed. "Just remember this! If Zanzibar is trashed, all of you are going to clean it up-everything-even the toilets! Am I understood?"

A collective sigh swept through the patrons, even Yune went with the flow.

"Yes, mother…!" everybody sighed.

"Good!" Her reflection nodded. "I will be outside then, enjoying the starlight. Have fun."

The heels of her mules made like that of the blonde's, clacking, following her out the door over that annoying bell. Mark couldn't help himself.

"Hear that, devil?" Mark said needlessly. "That's the bell tolling, and it's tolling for you!"

"Oh really?" Yune threw it back at him. "Is that a fact?"

"It is a fact!" Mark replied. "And after we're done with you, you're going to wish it hadn't."

"Really?" Yune said. "We'll see about that!"

-

Tara blinked as she walked out of the bar, as though she had seen a fleeting apparition. But it wasn't an apparition at all; it didn't vanish after the fourth and fifth bat of her eyes. It was actually there, standing firmly on its four, rubber feet just across the street, so sleek and clean that it bounced the streetlamp's glow right back. She was surprised she hadn't seen it before she had her beer.

"Sadie!" she grinned. Her hurried stride was predictably awkward as she ran for it.

The vehicle didn't answer back; it stood before her silently, staring back at her hotly with that fiery red-and-yellow paint job. She wasn't sure if it was dead, or it was simply switched off. Maybe it was playing possum, though it really wasn't the time. She decided to chance it, letting her fingers curl underneath the door handle.

The driver's door popped open effortlessly. With a huff, she pushed herself into the driver's seat. Robin's brother sure did a great job on restoration, as though Sadie hadn't rolled through a battlefield ever, and in record time! It would have taken days! Everything had been cleaned, spit-shined to perfection while the passenger seat had been replaced, and Sadie was the proud owner of a brand new tailgate, amongst other things.

"Sadie…?" she asked, tapping the display gently with her knuckle. "Sadie, is this really you? Are you alive in there somewhere? Come on now, answer!"

"She is alive, friend!"

Tara nearly jumped out of her skin, her mouth letting out a yip like a frightened poodle. Sadie rocked on her frame a bit while she hopped for a split-second.

"Easy-easy, friend!" Robin said coolly. "You are safe. I am not here to rob you blind."

"Oh… Robin!" She sighed calmly. Robin stood a couple feet away from the driver's side, her hands up halfway before she slowly let them drop to her sides. "You shouldn't scare me like that. Thank God I wasn't armed tonight, or we wouldn't be talking."

"I understand." Robin was backlit partially. The Ethiopian would have been like the shadows in the street if it weren't for that white, button-down top. "Given the current climate, I would not be surprised if you pulled a gun on me without much thought. But thankfully you did not."

"I know." She nodded. Her fingers couldn't idle any longer, wrapping firmly around the steering wheel. Even her feet took up their proper placement on the floor, her pump resting rather heavily on the accelerator though she had no place to go... though that could change in a split second considering.

"I see that you are getting comfortable, Tara." Robin noted sharply.

"Really?" she smirked weakly. "How could you guess?"

"Well, for one, you are!"

"Don't answer that, Robin." She interjected. "Rhetorical question. But is your brother some kind of genie or something? Sadie looks perfect!"

"That is my brother for you." Robin's heels clicked on the pavement as she moved herself around the front bumper. The passenger side clunked open, dipping severely briefly as the dark girl yanked herself inside. Sadie rocked softly as the door closed. "Always outdoing himself."

"But how?" she blinked. "She was practically a wreck this morning!"

"Appearances have always this deceiving look." Robin replied. "This vehicle was not as trashed as we originally thought. She needed a good cleaning, some bolts and nuts tightened, and a few things welded back together while some needed to be replaced altogether. Thankfully, he had just the parts laying around."

"I know!" She grinned. "It's a miracle!"

"Not commonly of what you think as a miracle, I believe." The woman shrugged. "But it is still one, whether you believe it or not."

"I believe;" she nodded quickly, "I believe! How does she run?"

"Like a dream, he said." A jingle rang through the silent street while Robin fished for the keys. "I am not sure myself. I have not driven it since I had brought it in! You tell me, Tara."

The keys rang out like a Christmas bell, catching nothing but a sliver of the streetlamp's dim glow as they arced through the air. It was sheer luck her hand managed to pluck them firmly out of the darkness. The proper key ratcheted itself inside the ignition smoothly-and flawlessly Sadie's heart roared to life, pumping its share of petroleum a little too quickly before she eased her foot off.

"Great!" the center console pushed into her awkwardly, her arms taking the lead as she drew that wonderful person into a friendly embrace! "This is great! She runs perfectly! Oh-how can we ever thank you?"

"Whoa…!" Robin giggled giddily. "Do not worry, Tara! I did this out of love and friendship!"

"Oh, come on!" she smiled thankfully. "There's got to be something I can do! How much did the bill come to?"

"You do not have to concern yourself with that, Tara." The dark girl replied. "Everything is well and good. What ever my brother Joshua cannot have in cash, he will have in fine liquor."

"What?" she blinked.

"Best that you do not concern yourself with the details, my friend." Robin pulled herself away, leaning comfortably back in the passenger chair. She too pulled herself back upright; the center console was really rubbing her the wrong way. "Be at peace knowing that that all is taken care of!"

A loud, piercing screech shattered the silence of the night, stabbing out from the speakers around. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head as it assaulted her eardrums. A blaring crackle erupted through the speakers, garbling the screeching severely, so much so that the nasty sound actually morphed and shaped itself into comprehensible syllables…!

"Hun…. Hunk-a-hunk-A-BURN-BURN-BURN-BURN-BURN-BURN-BURN-BURN!"

Well-random comprehensible syllables with a -flaming- fixation!

"BURN-Thank you very much…!" it came out like the King of RR, before it crashed completely into silence.

She gave up.

"Well, almost all is taken care of!" Robin quickly recanted.

"What the hell was that?" she fingered her ear. "God!"

"That is what I was telling you about earlier." Robin explained. "Sadie might as well be the Jeep you have found in the show room. Joshua must have cut some wires that he wasn't supposed to touch, and all he could get was a horrible Elvis impersonation."

"Well isn't this dandy?" she sighed. "Oh well-it's better than nothing, I guess."

"Now that is the way to look at it, Tara." Robin applauded. "Sadie could always have been towed for the scrap pile, but she wasn't. So suck it up and take it in stride."

"Right." She nodded. Sadie's heart went into a temporary arrest by a backwards flick of the wrist. "Though I really don't want to hear her arrangement of Jailhouse Rock."

"I understand." The dark girl nodded. "Come. Let us go back inside before he catch our death of cold."

"Okay." She agreed. "Maybe the boys settled the dispute like grown-ups!"

Glass shattered beside her like she had never heard it before, so loud that she could have sworn that even Sadie quaked on her sturdy frame. Robin yelped in surprise. It was as if someone had hundreds of chimes twinkle simultaneously in a fleeting moment. Hundreds-maybe even thousands of shards shattering from a single pane in a huge, sharp explosion only to shatter again as they smashed into the ground.

A huge man-a dark giant of a man laid flat on the ground supine, sprawling on a nasty sheet of twinkling shards. He was alive. A bit of pooling darkness flowed over the sharp pieces slowly, typically pooling around the dark giant around his body. His large, broad back made like his chest, rising and falling with his steady breathing.

Yune Bin-Mok stood behind the shattered window, the proud victor and envy of drunken-bar-room-brawl-boxers the world over, standing weakly on his own two feet. His opponents were scattered every which way imaginable. The punk named Mark had been thrown over the bar top, hanging on it by the belly, his chest inching him further over the edge but his legs kept him at a stand still. That didgeridoo player kept his face on the table involuntarily, slurping his spilled brew through his lips while it mingled with his own crimson mixer. That shofar player was slumped against the front door like a bum on a city bus, sitting quietly, dare not moving falsely lest her man pounce on him like a tiger.

In fact, she wasn't sure that man was moving at all.

The man of the hour still kept his rump against the seat of his stool; his arms limp, swaying lifelessly as Yune leaned on him for support.

"Oh good Lord!" Robin was frantic. Sadie bounced on her frame as the dark girl leaped from the vehicle. Her mules clomped hollowly on the street, the heels of her feet slapping against the insoles as she hurriedly made her way over to the giant. "Joshua! JOSHUA!"

"Or maybe not…." she noted dryly to herself.


	34. Chapter 34

(Cliffhangers keep you reading further entries, don't they, Yamal? And thank you ever so much for your generous support, Yamal, Forgotten, HHoD, and other silent readers who've made it this far! But I have still so much to do for this work before it can truly be called finished. RR as always, thank you.

(-Godhand's Number-)

34

"Yune!" Tara yelled. "Do you have to be so damn combative?"

Robin was as good as fired; she was sure of it. Bottles were strewn all over the bar, littering the floor in dangerous shards and pieces. The beverages they once held mingled with drops and smears of crimson. The front window was blown out completely. When the girl's boss saw the destruction around, she was certain that she was out of a job!

"Did the whole damn place have to jump me…?" Yune breathed heavily. "No! But that sure a hell didn't stop them!"

The Mark punk finally completed his trip over the bar top, slipping to the hard floor in a broken heap with a firm plop. The didgeridoo player followed his example; gravity tugged at him, yanking him off his chair and onto the floor. Liquid, the blood and the lager merged together-yucky liquid leapt off the tabletop simply to splash back down.

"After all that Robin did for us!" Her fists met her hips in record time. "After all her kindness and generosity, this is how you repay her? MEN! What in God's name is wrong with all of you?"

"I told you the whole bar jumped me!" Yune stumbled back on his own feet. "It's a miracle I'm still standing…!"

"Oh good Lord!" Robin exclaimed over that jingling bell, the clacking of her mules following her right in. "What has happened? The bar is trashed!"

"Go on, Yune!" she huffed. "Tell her! Why -is- the bar trashed-huh?"

"For the third time tonight," he sighed lightly, "the whole klezmer tried to come down on me like a damn anvil! I barely managed to fight them off-till this iron giant of a man stormed out of the back! To tell the truth-I haven't faced a truly skilled opponent in a long time! Though he did throw me around the place a couple times like I was doll."

"Excuse me!" Robin frowned. "That giant of man is my older brother!"

"What?" those almond eyes blinked.

"You have heard me right, Yune!" the dark girl huffed. "His name is Joshua, and I love him almost as I love Shia! He is the only family I got in this country! He even fixed your car when I inquired!"

"-Oops!" was the only thing the Asian could muster.

"OOPS?" she growled. "You trash her brother and get her fired in the process, and all you can say is oops? What the hell's wrong with you, Bin-Mok!"

"I'm not going to argue with you," the Korean took in a deep breath, "since I know I'll never win."

"Oh-friends…!" Robin sighed. "Let us not fight anymore."

"Huh?" She blinked. "You're not mad?"

"Well, I am miffed-as you would say-that the bar is trashed." The Ethiopian said collectedly. "But there are more important things at hand."

"How's your brother?" He asked.

"He will make it." The girl replied. "He is simply out cold. He has been through worse! He helped protect our village from bandits about a couple months before he came here. He was injured pretty badly, but Joshua had pulled through to my relief. After that, a mere bar fight is not going to do him in any time soon."

"Oh!" she said.

"A do not worry about the bar, my friend." Robin smiled weakly.

"Now why's that?" he asked.

"Because you are the ones who are going to help me clean this place up!" the dark girl chuckled. "Spotless, I might add!"

"I'm not exactly wearing the right shoes for that…!" She noted, grinding her slick toe gently into the floor.

"What?" Robin shrugged. "And you think I am? No, but do you think a little thing like that is going to stop me?"

"So this is what I got nice for!" she grinned bitterly. "Janitor duty!"

"It should not be hard labor, Tara." Robin stretched her neck out a bit. "So quit whining!"

"I like whining!"

"Tara…!" Yune frowned.

"Fine…!" she sighed.

"There's one little thing I have to do before we can start." Yune said smugly, patting his hand on the curly top's head. "Isn't that right-SHIA!"

"What…?" Yune yanked that curly top off the table, along with the rest of his head-only to smack it back down on the bar top! "OW! My nose!"

His warm smile dropped, his soft eyes hardened into stone. The portal to the fifth dimension opened before her very eyes as Yune reverted back to his old self, back when he was with that disgusting private army. She could picture him easily in the right side of an interrogation room. He looked so callous, so malevolent, and so ruthless that he'll do just about anything, say anything to get the job done. It reminded her of….

"Isn't this fun…?" he grinned with somewhat of a familiar, maniacal glee. "Just like old times! Isn't that right, Shia?"

Shia couldn't answer, Yune didn't give him time when he smacked his head against the bar top again. A few crimson drops leapt of Bonnet's face, slapping down upon the dark bar top in a reddish spot no bigger than a two-pound piece.

"-OH-" Bonnet groaned, his fingers mashing against his poor nose. "WHAT THE FUCK, MAN?"

Yune sized him by the curly locks again, forcing his nose against the top harshly.

"You're not a caveman, Shia!" Yune smirked. "Sure, you're French-but don't curse in front of the ladies!"

"FUCK YOU, BIN-MOK!" Shia couldn't finish again as his head met the top again. "GOD! WILL YOU CUT THAT OUT?"

"Fuck me?" Yune blinked mockingly. "Fuck you, Bonnet!"

"What the shit do you want?" Shia's face met the bar top again. "-OW-"

"I told you about that cussing crap, Bonnet!"

"Yune…!" She said softly. "Isn't this being a little extreme…?"

"I have to agree with Tara, Yune." Robin seconded. "I know Shia has done terrible things, but I do not believe he deserves this."

"Ladies," he replied, "I'd like you to wait outside for us-fine gentleman! If Bonnet here doesn't loose those lips, then it's going to get a little messy!"

"But Mr. Bin-Mok!"

"Robin," she held up her hand, "from what I learned, it's better just to let him do his thing. But Yune…!"

"Yes, T?" he pursed his thin lips.

"Just… remember what he talked about today, okay?" she asked. "For me…?"

"I'll see what I can do." He nodded. "Just wait for me."

"Okay." She nodded back.

"How very touching!" Shia said bitterly-for a second while Yune made his head do its thing against the bar top. "-OW-"

"Come on, Rob." She spun carefully on her heels. "We'll sit in the car."

"All right." The girl said. "If we must."

-

"Well, Kimberly," that poison of the human race said rather casually, "this is it."

Kimberly wasn't sure whether to be disturbed at the slightest or not. Everything around her, the nasty room that contained her, the freak on rolling tracks that did its very sincerest to make her a special stain on the nasty walls, it lost its clammy, chilling grip upon her as the thugs chained her up for the third time in 36 hours. Stick face gladly helped, suggesting chains over rope with hearty gusto. After this, if there even was the possibility, she wasn't sure anything would stun her in the least anymore.

The man who jaded her walked slowly up to her, wrapped loosely in a ridiculous cape that draped from his small shoulders to just an inch off of the icky floor, swathed in that same ridiculous pomposity of his late father. Young Drazen gradually was regaining his -hairy- disposition that made him renowned among his twisted little family; those thick, brown strands triumphed only by those long, sharp shards. What she wouldn't have done for her hair to grow like that.

"Cut the crap, Grizzly Adams!" she huffed. "What do you want -now?"

"You'll know in a second, Possible!" he frowned back. "And as much as the men here at the Organ Grinder have enjoyed your -foxy- personality, Kim, I regret-not really, actually-to inform you that your -services- are no longer necessary!"

"Like I actually wanted to help you goons!" she spat. "As if!"

"Indeed…." He sighed. "Anyway!"

"Who are you-stick face?" she sneered. "Whatever you have to say, just say it already!"

"Didn't you listen to me, Possible?" he straightened himself, puffing his chest out. "Or did Galil bite off your ears? I already told you; your services are no longer needed. Which means you're no longer useful to me…!"

"So this is it, huh?" she exclaimed. The chains rattled distinctly as she squirmed against them, but the clasps held tight. "Fine! Much like you, I'm getting sick and tired of being executed by some flunky! If you're going to kill me-then kill me! Nothing fancy, nothing over-the-top! Just whip out your little pea-shooter and drill one between my running lights!"

"Now, on any other day, I wouldn't mind acceding to your demand-as ridiculous as it sounds!" Drazen smirked barely. "But I'm afraid I don't have much time, and bullets are precious little pieces of material I can't afford to waste anymore! Big things are happening, Possible, happening to this entire region whether you or the rest of the Muslim menace like it or not. It's a shame that I didn't bother to have a TV installed in this room, because you're not going to see it happen."

"What're you going to do to me…?" she demanded.

"What am I going to do to you?" Drazen blinked. "What am -I- going to do to you? I'm afraid that you're mistaken, wench; it's not -I- that you should be worried about. But rather-what -he's- going to do to you!"

Tank Man growled hungrily just as the major pain gestured toward it. It leered at her greedily, lustfully. It wanted to have its way with her; she could feel it shaking her to the core. Chills ran their icy touch up her back, tickling her skin with frost as it let out another growl. She winced as its claw snapped at her, seemingly from all directions.

"Oh… boy!" the metal-head grinned. "Won't that be fun? I wish I could be here when Galil finally chews your head off, but I can't. I got shit to do!"

"You got shit to do?" she hissed. "How appropriate, coming from King Shit himself!"

"Major Drazen, Sir," the stick-face himself tore his eyes away, "why must we carry on like this? She's put us through enough! Isn't it best to simply take her suggestion and end it right now?"

"Don't you have some orders to give, Eli?" The head punk frowned.

"I already did, Sir." The stick face replied. "It has already begun; the gears are in motion. Things are going smoothly, Sir, though morale's a little lower than average. But once everything starts coming together, it shouldn't be a problem."

"Good." He nodded. "Make sure it doesn't."

"Yes sir."

"What are you doing?" she demanded. "What are you planning?"

"What's that you say?" the metal-head threw it back. "What am I planning? Come on! Don't insult my intelligence! You should know by now that there's no free lunch with me!"

"I'm going to die anyway." she eased. "What's the harm?"

"Still using all the muscles except the one that matters-shikse?" Drazen replied. A strange kink for a strange brow, it was. "Considering all this time you've spent, tracking me, chasing me, escaping from me and yet you no nothing of my intentions-Dreck! You're as bad at that meddlesome North Korean!"

"Yune!" she gasped. "What did you do with him?"

"Don't tear your head off over it, Possible." He shrugged. "Galil will do that for you. Bin-Mok and his trophy girlfriend got away from me-with certain frustration, I might add. Almost had him, but I guess it wasn't meant to be. Yet just thinking about him brings up something in me that I seemed to have forgotten about!"

"What's that?" she asked suspiciously.

"Back in Prague," he narrowed his eyes, "during your mind-boggling getaway, there was someone with you… wasn't there?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Don't give me that crap, bitch!" he growled-and he shot the stick-man a dirty look. The cape whooshed dramatically, a lengthy piece of it pleating into itself as his good arm shoved it behind his shoulder. Her heart jumped as his hand met the grip of his Desert Eagle. Velcro ripped as he jerked it out of its nest. "We wouldn't be talking right now, if you think about it! But no…! Apparently, some of us can't tie a knot properly! Isn't that right-Eli…?"

"But Sir, I!" Eli couldn't reply properly.

"Is that why you're so eager to kill her?" Drazen continued. "She got away from you, made you look like an idiot in front of everyone! And now that same insult is hanging right in front of you, mocking you still as you string her up. You just can't stand that, can you?"

"Sir…." Eli was at a loss for words.

"Don't worry too much over it." He shrugged. "I've been there myself not too long ago. You hate losing as much as I do, I bet."

"Actually," the stick man shrugged back, "that's pretty much it, Sir! You've hit the nail on the head, as it were!"

"I did." The punk affirmed. Like father like son. Drazen was so full of himself that he was practically choking on his pride. If he didn't puke, she'd do it for him wholeheartedly. "Didn't I. But as I was saying-bitch!"

"Here we go…!" she sighed.

"There was a certain someone with you back in Prague, wasn't there?" he gazed at her seriously. His cape tailed him dramatically while he walked to her, as though he meant something powerfully by it. A familiar staccato clicked in her ears as the punk thumbed the claw hammer. "A boy, yes? Blond hair, flat, a dirty mat that always looks plastered to his head, does it not?"

"Ask a stupid question, Uzi." She sneered.

"Stupid or not, I get an answer nonetheless." He frowned. "I remember it clear as day; he took out some good men. Surely my 'copter would have done him in, but after seeing everybody's favorite piece of -kimchi- today, I'm not so sure anymore. I could have relaxed a bit more if I simply blew his brains out when I had the chance!"

"So what the hell do you want me to do about it?" she shot angrily. "Pat you on the head, and tell you everything's okay?"

"Is he alive?" he asked. "And I'm only going to ask you twice more."

"Is who alive?" she batted it back.

"Eli, today's your lucky day." Her spine tingled intensely as Drazen pushed that cannon of a pistol against her head, right between her eyes like she suggested. "You tell me now, bitch, I'll promise this bullet will save you a lot of grief. This is your second chance: is your blond buffoon alive?"

"Piss off!" she spat.

"One last chance, Possible!" he frowned. Her teeth pressed together tightly when her ears caught the chilling click of the safety catch. "Are you sure that you don't want to tell me? Where is that blond buffoon?"

"Where is he?" she glared back. "Up your ass, Uzi! That's where he is! I'm sure a good proctologist can find him after he yanks your big head out first!"

Drazen took in a breath of fouled air, letting it out slowly while the huge muzzle slipped off her forehead deliberately. He dropped the eagle back into its narrow nest irritably. That strange head of his shook exasperatedly as the cloak flowed back over his shoulder.

"Eli, I guess it's not your day after all." He said. "Sorry! But don't worry about it, bitch. I'm sure Tank Man will chomp it out of you soon enough."

"I'd rather die!" she barked.

"Don't worry!" He chuckled. "You will-much to my satisfaction! But you're beginning to bore me, Possible. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some important matters to attend to. Eli, you know what to do with her. Give her the time of her life, you understand?"

"Yes Sir!" the stick-man saluted.

"Good." The ridiculous cloak rippled in the thick air as Drazen spun for the door. "If you need me, just radio."

"Will Do!"

What she wouldn't give if the inadvertently aforementioned were to smash down that nasty, squeaky door just for her. With several hardnosed men dressed in those tacky fatigues, guns blazing, watching streamers and ribbons of crimson flow generously out of Drazen's back. He'd fall to the dirty ground in a broken heap, at the feet of that stringy, bronzed Asian, tightly wrapped in that tawdry GJ garb. Not exactly the way she dreamed of being rescued, but she'd take what the powers that be threw at her… even if it did come shrouded in a ragged, threadbare cape with a large, nasty sickle clenched in its bony fingers.

"Have fun, kids!" Drazen laughed as he strolled out the door, his tin knee squealing just as loud as the hinges. That stupid cape waved her a final goodbye as the punk turned the corner, squeaking his way out through the next doorway.

"Don't worry, we will!" Eli called, just before he turned for her. His bony cheeks were flush with pride, conceit oozing from him in thick globs. "Well, 96, are you ready to begin again?"

"I don't want to hear it, stick-face!" she spat. "Whatever you're going to do, just do it!"

"Yes ma'am!" his mouth went wide with toothy grin yet those dark knots on his face did not. Creepy….

-

Though only the clock told her in bright green that a half hour had passed, it felt like Yune had been inside for well over an hour. From Tara's plush curbside seat, Zanzibar looked something out of a riot that had come and gone, the looters and infuriated partakers chased off by Johnny Law and friends. It would take some serious hours to clean everything up, but she couldn't do anything till someone emerged.

"What the hell's taking so long?" she thought aloud.

"I do not know, Tara…." Robin sniffed. The dark girl was obviously shaken, fidgeting in the driver's seat, leather squelching as she wringed the wheel tightly. The key gleamed at her hauntingly from the ignition. Maybe it was a mistake letting her take the wheel after all. "I just wish I knew…."

"I don't think you should worry about it too much." She said softly. "Sure Yune's a little rough around the edges, and he doesn't have much fashion sense. But deep down, he really is a sweetheart who wouldn't hurt a fly… much."

"Do you really know that for certain?" Robin turned to her. Her dark eyes glistened wetly in the dull streetlight. "Has he ever raised his skilled hand against you?"

"Well, he does give me a love tap on the head when I did something wrong!" she shrugged. "But he's Korean-born and raised! So it's not like I wasn't expecting it."

"You know what I mean." The girl said gravely.

"No, he has not." She shook her head furiously. "He swore to me he wouldn't! And if he ever did, he gave me his permission to leave him. Then again, I don't want to leave him at all. Though we've been going out for a short time now, I feel like he's my best friend I ever had! I don't want anything bad to happen to him! It'd break my heart…."

"Such is like being in love." The dark girl nodded. "Now you know how I feel."

"Don't worry, Robin." She leaned close to her. "I'm certain Shia will come out alive!"

"And how do you know this?" the girl asked honestly.

"I just have a feeling, you know." She shrugged. "Like a premonition or something. I can't explain how I know, I just do."

"Perhaps you watch too much television." Robin chuckled weakly. "Those shows about psychos might be playing with your head, Tara."

"I think you mean psychic." She corrected.

"Right." The girl nodded. "Them too!"

"AND THIS ONE'S FOR YOKO!" Her man's shout was so loud it blew across the street.

The bloodied front door of the trashed bar banged open as the man of the hour planted his face square against the unflinching street. Bonnet looked like he had been thrown into a machine, a wood chipper almost. His curly top deflated, curly locks plastered against his reddened scalp. Blood trickled down from his sockets, his nose, and his mouth; dripping onto the street in a little, crimson blob. The trails of red gave color to the large contusions dappling his boyish face, black and blue spots about a square inch in size. A haze of red puffed out of his bloody mouth when he coughed.

"Oh… FUCK!" Bonnet cursed with a haggard breath.

"You're about to get fucked in a minute, Bonnet!" Yune said loudly as he stalked out of the bar. "Didn't I tell you about cussing in front of the ladies?"

"YUNE!" Sadie rocked barely as Tara and the dark girl leapt out. The impetus of each door slamming back into the body canceled each other out, the SUV barely quivering at all. "WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO HIM?"

"BACK OFF, T!" He shouted back. That gentle gaze he was known for back home was gone, those dark almonds locked in a furious glare. He was so hot, it froze her to the core, shaking her as though he had reached out with those strong limbs and grabbed her. "THIS DOESN'T CONCERN YOU-BOTH OF YOU!"

"Bullshit!" she cursed loudly. "THE HELL THIS DOESN'T CONCERN US! DIDN'T YOU LISTEN TO ANYTHING I SAID?"

"Tara, you know I love you!"

"Do I really?" she spat, folding her arms crossly. "After this, Yune-I'm not even sure I can believe anything you said! If you don't listen to me, then why should I even believe anything that comes out of your mouth?"

"Tara!" he growled.

"I told you, Yune…!" she growled back. "I told you not to hurt him. I thought you were the better man-but I guess I was wrong! Maybe your days with that disgusting outfit isn't behind as I thought! "

"Tara…!" he glared pointlessly. "You back up a minute!"

"Why should I, Yune?" she demanded. "WILL IT DISTRACT YOU FROM YOUR HANDIWORK? YOU'RE GOING TO KILL HIM, YUNE! DO YOU HONESTLY WANT THAT?"

"I HAVE HALF THE MIND TO DO MORE THAN THAT, T!" He shouted back. "I'LL TEAR HIS FUCKING HEAD OPEN!"

"Why, Yune?" she frowned. "What'd he ever do to deserve this…? You tell me…! Give me one good reason!"

"DO YOU REALLY WANT TO KNOW, T?" he shouted back. She could have sworn those almond eyes went slick with fresh water. "DO YOU?"

"Yes…!" she nodded.

"Fine…!' he growled bitterly. "Paris-France-well over a year ago-assigned by Colonel Drazen himself to help the French Fries quell fighting between the Jews and the Muslims after several violent riots! My girlfriend-fiancée was assigned to my squad. While conducting a search for a violent murder-also known as this piece of shit!"

Another red cloud puffed out of Shia's mouth when Yune kicked him in the side. The clopping of Robin's mules was soft against the asphalt. The pointy toes swiveled the rest of her body away from the grotesquerie. Her frizzy ponytail swished somberly while one of her dark hands cupped over her mouth. It was by the grace of God that she wasn't all over the North Korean like flames lapping on an 80-proof drink.

"He hit!" Yune continued soberly, solemnly. "One thing lead to another, T, and the whole team…."

Just because he almost killed the poor SOB at her feet didn't mean his heart withered and crumbled into blackened dust. She could see it easily as the man drew a finger underneath his nose.

"And I lost them, Tara…!" He sniffed. "Everybody! I messed up-even with all my experience! Yoko-she was…!"

"Oh!" Shia's indifferent laugh came out haggardly. "I recalled that Jap had some rhythm… busted some serious moves when she finally went into her final shakes-OH!"

Someone had tapped a blocky heel against the curly top's crotch. She wasn't going to say whom!

"Shut up, Bonnet!" she snapped. "Just be grateful Robin's here!"

"After you…!" the punk coughed.

"Yune…!" Shia polluted her eyes long enough, ripping them away from the SOB and planting them where they really belonged. "I'm sorry…!"

"Don't be…." He barely shook his head.

"No, Yune." She shook her head. "I mean it. I'm sorry that I got in your face about him, considering, but please understand that killing him isn't going to help anything!"

"I know that, T." he sighed, and he took a squat upon his heels beside the human road-kill. Like an ape, he prodded and poked the rotting piece of meat with stern finger. "Despite my throbbing id, that is. But that's where you're going to come in, isn't that right, Bonnet…?"

"Go to hell, Bin-Mok!" Shia spat a thick wad of scarlet. Bubbles inflated and popped instantaneously as it slapped the undulated grains of the street, sinking in between them.

"Trust me, Shia." He replied sardonically. "You're -way- in the lead on that race!"

"Friends!" Robin spun quickly back around on the slick balls of her feet. What little tears had escaped her eyes left their sticky mark upon her round cheeks. Her hands wringed tensely, taking turns capping atop each other simply to keep them busy. "I must protest! I simply cannot stand idly by while a little more of Shia's life slips away at your hands! I know of the harm he has caused you and I apologize on his behalf, but I must insist that you do not raise up your hands against him any more. He is hurt enough, and I do not believe that he can survive it!"

"I understand that, Robin." He nodded. "But the sooner Mr. Bonnet here sings for me, the sooner we can be out of his hair. Right Bonnet?"

"Whatever, fool!" the beaten man spat again. "Do your worst!"

"Shia, why do we have to be at each others throats-huh?" Yune asked rhetorically, poking him against that big, curly head of his. "Though you've killed my FRIENDS, it doesn't have to always be like this, you know! Or maybe you're just one of those people who're addicted to conflict. Then again, why would that be? Does it somehow bring meaning into that pathetic life of yours or something, huh?"

Bonnet growled as irritably as his broken heap of flesh in its entirety would let him.

"Yune…." She said sternly.

"Huh?" The Asian pressed on. "Do you even know? Do you think your fighting for something, for your survival, for your pleasure, for Robin over there? What? Come on, Shia!"

"Because…" the punk coughed, "it's the only thing I'm good at!"

A sigh. "I don't believe that for a minute. But as much as I'd like to hear your life story, Bonnet, I can't. See, I've got a friend I need to find, and you and your -generous- personality are going to tell me where your boss is holding her!"

"And why should I?" Shia's coughs stretched into a gnawing groan, the same sort of groan she had heard back in a hotel bar a few thousand miles away. His dirty hands pressed against his stomach while he curled into himself like a gimp of a pill bug. "OH! My stomach…!"

"Oh no!" Robin exclaimed. "His stomach ulcer! Quickly, give him his medication!"

"On it!"

Yune rocked forward on his heels toward Bonnet. His hands flattened, curving against the shape of the body while the clothes flattened and smoothed out from under them. His hands met Bonnet again and again, patting him down, shifting position each time a faint clatter rattled out from the boy. One of his hands curled at the knuckles, cupping against a chest pocket.

"I think I found it." The small little button gleamed quickly in the streetlight, arcing severely in the quiet air just as Yune ripped the pocket open. His fingers dived in… and out they came with a chubby orange bottle in their pinch. Little tablets bounced like Mexican jumping beans as he gave it quick shake. "Ha! Got it!"

"Great!" Robin nodded. "Those are it. Give them to him!"

The large white cap bounced on the asphalt, bouncing off against the chunky grains, flopping on its flat solid face as it lazily rolled into her toe. Her man pushed the bottle into Bonnet's face, the brim of it poking in past his lips-and still Shia fought back. The boy had managed to pry a hand between his face and his nemesis' forearm, shoving it away!

"No!" Shia wiggled against him.

"Shia, what are you?" Robin couldn't finish.

"No medicine…!" the boy bared his teeth, pressed together in a painful clench. "NONE!"

Shia swatted at the bottle. All other mouths dropped, including her own, as those precious pills popped out of the cylinder. For just a fleeting second, she could see them-all of them, little circles and ovals spinning in front of the warm glow of the street lamp like planetoids in the celestial waltz-and they were gone….

They might as well have been like grains in the asphalt as they sprinkled onto the street.

"SHIA!" Robin yelled. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

"You want-UZI?" his cry shot out painfully. "You want your Kim Possible back-HUH?"

"Don't you dare go -hara-kiri- on me, boy!" Yune sized him by collar. "Where are they, Shia? Answer me!"

"They're at the Organ Grinder-ALRIGHT!" Shia coughed. "Oh!"

"Where's that?" he pressed. "A music shop? You better not be yanking my chain, Shia!"

"NO!" Bonnet shook his head furiously. "I'm not…!"

The sharp clopping cut her attention away for a second. Robin was making like her generous self, using her locked arms as support as her hands pressed against her crooked knees, peering at the darkness before her on the ground, squinting. Shia screamed haggardly, and she turned back to the men again.

"OH-Ho…!" Shia writhed into himself, twitching agonizingly. Even though he thankfully was backlit, as dark as a shadow, it was hurting her just to look. "It HURTS…!"

"Tell me where they are, and I'll find you your medicine!" Her man coached. "Concentrate!"

"South of the Negev…!" the boy growled. "King SOLOMON'S MINE!"

"That old copper mine?" Yune blinked. "For a military base? You got to be shitting me!"

"No… I'm NOT!" Shia coughed.

"Hold on, Shia!" Robin exclaimed. She looked for the dark girl again, craning her head over he shoulder. The Ethiopian was on all fours now, her finger poking at pricking at the street like a chicken to feed. "Let me find you your medication!"

"Robin…." The boy's breathing was shallow. "I love you!"

"NO!" the girl shouted blindly back. "DO NOT TALK LIKE THAT!"

"Rob!" Shia was weak, but he continued anyway. It was something out of a bad romance novel or something. "Please…! Since the moment I saw you… back at Ben Gurion, when you stepped off the plane…! Somehow I knew I loved you! I don't know how-nor CAN I-explain…! I just knew…! Since then… you were-you ARE-the best thing that ever happened for this miserable heap…!"

"Shia…!" the girl gasped. "No…!"

"Don't cry for me, Rob…!"

Tears sparkled for her, for Robin, for all of them to see, to stare in wonderment at. For all she knew, Shia was being real for possibly the first time in his life. Strangely enough, she felt it. Her heart fluttered as though it grew butterfly wings. It was… beautiful.

"I don't deserve it…!" Shia strain seemingly eased, but she had a suspicion that it wasn't of his accord. "Live your life in peace… KNOWING-that you're finally free… of Mr. U. Like myself…! Free of all that misery and rage… the hatred-GONE! But maybe…! Maybe… in the NEXT life… I can finally be-perfect… for you…."

His writhing stopped instantly, he twitched not again, and his chest fell into him for a final time. Shia Bonnet was still, eerily still. His emulation was complete; he finally became that piece of wasted flesh commonly found on a backwoods byway. He was dead; Yune's vengeance was complete. Now she was certain the poor kid was standing before those imposing gates of pearl-right at this very moment-watching anxiously as a man in white thumbed through the Lamb's Book of Life for his name.

"Yune…." She blinked for blinking sake, shaking her head in needless bewilderment. "Is he really…?"

A somber shaking of his head confirmed everything.

"Shia…!" Robin sniffed. Her head hanged low between her shoulders, her frizzy ponytail slipping over her head when Tara turned for her. Her legs were crossed at the ankles, and she leaned forward to where her locked arms were perfectly perpendicular with the ground. A single gleam of light fell from her flush cheeks, splashing into oblivion as it met the street, so much pain, and so much anguish in such a tiny drop. "No, no, no, no…."

A whimper, a sniff-and with such sensation-such passion, Robin whipped back her head. The ponytail arced gracefully in the air, slapping her backside as the girl let out a shout she'd never wanted to hear.

"SHIA!"


	35. Chapter 35

35

Ron felt dirty, like he needed a long shower back home.

While order surrounded him, everything had a place and everything had been placed appropriately, the commandant's décor reflected otherwise. Articles and clippings from periodicals and newspapers were glued to the walls, pertinent somewhat to little Drazen and his "family". Pictures were even on the ceiling, plastered haphazardly in no particular order. Most were a nasty yellow, crisp to the touch, while a few were as fresh as a couple of days ago.

It didn't bother him that much, but those pictures… so many, how they dappled so randomly on the ceiling and the walls that you couldn't miss them. He wasn't sure what the photographer was looking at or what he was trying to capture the essence of. On one, floating in a transparent pool was a blob of something, formless and purposeless; bad film, probably. Another photo depicted form more eloquently. It had a lengthy tail, a fat head, a beady eye, and two tiny sticks for arms poking out of its tiny-

-Is that what I think it is…-

-Body.

It didn't take him long to put two and two together. Fetuses, all of those tiny square slips of paper pictured fetuses! Some picturing them back when they looked like malformed lizards while the rest featured full term babies! The latter had thick, nasty tubes and wires piercing at each orifice on some while the rest were…. He couldn't say it; it was simply too unnerving to even think about, and those disgusting pictures deserved not the respect of even being thought about in the slightest. The most prudent question could not be answered. Certainly not by him by any means, and he wasn't sure that Mrs. Dr. Possible would fare any better.

Why? What was the purpose of it all, what purpose did those little imperfect squares of Polaroid hold below the color? The photos were purposely vague. Or were they? Maybe the answer was staring him in the face, just like old man Drazen when he slid open a desk drawer. That old bastard scowled rather vengefully at him when he picked up the frame too.

"I'm wasting time." He frowned. The desk banged when he shoved the drawer back inside. "It could be Uzi's baby pictures for all I know. I'm still not any closer to Kim, but I have to say that old Drazen raised such a strange little man!"

The radio chirped at him. He sighed while its uncomfortable clip snapped off his belt. Just when he got the blasted thing to fit in a small space between two pockets of his utility belt too. Oh well.

"Nacho Man." The set spoke to him in Yune's unmistakable voice. "This is -Kimchi! Do you read me? Over."

"-Kimchi-" he thumbed the button, "this is Nacho Man, because I like to be-a Nacho Man! It's good to hear your voice again. Over."

"Likewise." Yune agreed. "What's your status?"

"In the bad Major's quarters," he replied, "towards the rear of this facility, I think! How should I know? It wouldn't be the first time I got turned around and mixed up in this strange joint, I'll tell you what! But did you ever know bad old Uzi personally? He's rather twisted, isn't he?"

"No I didn't. But I've heard my share of stories. He's nothing but bad news. I've heard rumors about a twin or some kind of failed clone, but nothing paned out well. I might have seen it earlier today, that freak on wheels but who knows!"

"Goody." He sighed. "But how about you? What's your twenty?"

"Everything's okay on this end-Nacho Man-." The Asian replied. "Except one thing."

"What's that?"

"It's Shia." Yune said soberly. "He's dead, wouldn't take his medicine like he should have. I tried to give him some, but…. No, I'd rather not get into the details right now. But at least he told us or gave us some sort of hint on your location."

"Oh really?"

"Nacho Man," Yune asked seriously, "does King Solomon's Mine mean anything to you?"

"That old copper mine?" he blinked incredulously. "Are you sure you heard him right?"

"Affirmative." The man replied. "It was the only clue we managed to sweat out of him. Some place called the 'Organ Grinder'."

"What?" he blinked again.

"Nacho Man," Yune asked, "does any of those words mean anything to you, anything at all? Think carefully now; think about any conversation you've overheard or file you skimmed over, or anything!"

"Not a damn thing when it comes to organ grinders, except when it comes to pipe organs and such." He shrugged. "But King Solomon's Mine, that's clear at the southern point of Israel, a short drive from the town of Semar. There the locals call it -Mikhrot Shelomo Hamelekh-. I remember going there when I was still living in Israel, back when I was a little kid, but I wasn't that impressed. But just remembering, it'd be improbable to fit a whole instillation there!"

"I know." The Korean affirmed. "That's what I thought, but we're not counting anything out-not this late in the game! I just called Hershel about it. She's skeptical too, but she's not taking any chances. Expect some serious backup soon. How's your equipment?"

"You mean this revolver?" he gave that cold lump a gentle pat. Thankfully he didn't have to use it just yet. "Still taking up space in my pants. Haven't had to use it; this whole place looks like a ghost town. Predictable though. Everybody's clustered around what a map called the 'docking bay'."

"Just like I thought for the most part." Yune said. "How's your fail-safe?"

Ah… his fail-safe, that little ball of warmth that took up his burrow in another pocket. Gently, he gave him a pat as well.

"He's good, overall." He nodded. "Though it's a little too cold for his tastes. I told him to pack a sweater, but does he listen to me? No…! But there's one more thing I have to ask you-Kimchi-."

"Make it quick." -Kimchi- replied. "You've got a little over an hour before midnight."

"I know, but how's Robin doing?" he asked seriously. "About Shia…? She's okay, right? She's not going to kill herself, is she?"

"Nope." Yune said. "We weren't sure at first, just when he crossed over, but she's handling it fairly well. She hasn't come after me with a butcher knife, but I wouldn't be surprised if she did."

"And what about you?" he asked. "What are you guys going to do?"

"Nothing much." The Asian replied. "Hershel's probably going to take it from here. This might be the last time we talk for a while, Nacho Man, so watch yourself."

"And why's that?"

"We've… got a bar to clean up!"

He blinked. "What?"

"Take care now, Nacho Man." Yune said. "-Kimchi, over and out."

"Great…." He sighed, parting his pouches enough so that the belt clip could snap on. "Just great…!"

He yanked the flap crowning the pocket flanking his foreleg, Velcro parting from each other with a hearty rip. His leg finally had the chance to warm again as he dragged that revolver out. Cold steel in his hand, he drew the hammer back a couple clicks, letting that fat cylinder swivel swiftly in the frame-

"Okay Uzi," he said, "you want to play…?"

-Seizing instantly as he drew that claw hammer all the way.

"Let's play…!"

-

Never before had Uzi noticed how cold the Organ Grinder could be, especially at night. His breath revealed itself before him with every breath that passed out his lips, pluming up and away from him like smoke from a smoke stack. It was his only indicator ever since he had the displeasure of his -makeover, courtesy of Kim Possible and that blonde witch.

The halogens shined down upon him brightly as he sat upon the good doc's table, naked from the pistol belt up. His jacket, shirt, even that cape was piled at his feet, dropped indifferently on the pavement. His delivery system had been completed just a few minutes ago, ready for a fitting at the behest of his medically trained tailor. Simply thinking of the snowy-haired, tin-eyed man, he couldn't help but ponder.

-Have we truly never met before-

Footsteps tapped out from the other side of the room, in the shade where the doc disappeared moments before, close to a workstation dimly lit by a naked bulb. The uncertainty melted off of him in thick globs when he caught site of those two loafers, walking out from the shadow. There was no time for it now, not a second to second guess. It was too late in the game for it, his resolve cool and firm, sharp like those needles-those lengthy, pointy needles, slanting out at painful angles from a piece of curved tarp the doc held like a tray.

"Oh Major Drazen…." The good doctor called for him.

The light shined off that slicked back cap of white brilliantly as he strolled completely out of the shade… just like those needles. Though the burden of all proximal feeling had been lifted off him completely, the knot in his stomach couldn't help but tighten at the very sight of them. So thin, so sharp, and pointy; it was unnerving. Something so sinister should not be inserted into the flesh-EVER!

"Major Drazen, are you ready for your fitting?" the doc asked.

"I am…." He nodded slowly…. The motion sickness held him tight in its sickening grasp-AGAIN! "-Oh…- But… we don't have a whole lot of time! We're moving out in a few hours tops."

"I know that, Sir." The doctor replied. "But you cannot rush this! One screw up could mean instant death for you."

"Instant death?" he sighed. "Certain death has been tailing me for a long time, Doc, ever since I met my real father and joined up with him. Its been hunting me since that botched job on the American coast, and I was sure it had me when that goddamn bitch put the grapple in my neck!"

"A miracle you survived, Sir." The doc noted. "You should have been dead."

"I guess I wasn't ready to go yet…." He shrugged barely. "-Oh…-"

"The motion sickness again?"

"Yes…."

"I've been expecting this!" the doc smirked though his eyes did not. "Since I caught your-err-trip- on the television, I've been busy in the temperature control lab when I wasn't working on your suit. I've created a variant of your drug, Sir. A two-for-one package, if you will. I've taken the anabolic steroids and combined it with the active properties of your scopolamine supplements."

"That means…."

"That's right, Major Drazen." He nodded contently. "At the slightest hint of weakness or nausea, just push a button and all will be right with your world."

The gray doctor flipped the curved tarp around, letting the weight of those two hefty tanks sweep the nasty side upside down. In the light, the shine of the metal was nowhere near as brilliant as the sheen on the glass. From the tanks, black tubes, both thick, thin, and every girth in between, ran along the area of the tarp and beyond; ending nastily with lengthy, thin needles. A pale green substance barely jiggled inside. He wasn't sure if it were frozen or gelatin. Between the two reservoirs sat the crowning touch, familiar Hebrew characters stitched thickly in red.

"And what if I need a refill?" he asked.

"Simple plug and play, Major." The doc said. "These reservoirs are removable, and think of the braces that hold them can act like a guide. Just pop them out from over head, and slip a fresh one home. Each have a valve, so don't worry about spilling all over. Each weigh less than half a pound empty, and weigh just less than two pounds. I've taken the liberty to construct special pouches in this vest for two extra reservoirs."

"Sounds easy enough." He shrugged.

"Plus I stashed a few in Rex's telemetry tower, by your seat, should you need them." The doc said. "But just like regular Goliath, I warn you not to be a so generous with your doses. The drug will keep flowing into you as long as you hold the button down, so be careful."

"And if that happens?"

"It's a psychotropic." The doc's lips pressed into a grim line. "Insanity and extreme aggression till the drug wears off. But by then, it might be too late if you know what I mean."

"Just like I thought." He nodded. "Anything else?"

"Well, there is the matter that brought you here in the first place, Major Drazen." The doc's smile was sharp as a knife, those nasty needles flipping right side up.

"Oh boy…!" he swallowed.

"Come now, Uzi." The doc chuckled so sadistically, so devilishly that he ought to have the doc reprimanded. "This won't hurt a bit. Now I need you to lay on your belly."

"Yeah right." He sighed.

He kicked his leg up; sweeping it onto the table while his tin leg needed his helping hand. His lips pushed uncomfortably against his teeth, and his belly flattened against the table as he rolled prone. The thick, heavy mat of spiky unnerving fell on his back, flopping onto his flesh like a towel-a crusty, nasty towel. It didn't get to him too much when that nasty mat got heavier in separate places, pushing into him awkwardly… deeply. It was only for his good.

"See?" the doc said. "Is it really so bad?"

He shook his head.

Then came a steady hum. "Thought not. And you're almost done, Major Drazen. But let me get the pizza paddle really quick. Got to make sure those needles are in!"

For the first time, he actually squeaked.

-

Stick man shifted before Kimberly swiftly, from left to right although those dark, imposing boots of his didn't twitch at all. Yet that lean piece of excrement did swing position, from left to right every time she felt that strange fist smash into her face, into her body. Yet those thin switches of his were kept squarely behind his back. It didn't take a genius to show her what was happening.

Since the stet Drazen said his goodbyes, the younger one kept that terrible jaw closed, letting its good hand do the screeching and the growling for it. She snorted strongly at Tank Man, feeling something more than what should have trickled out her nostril. Cool, sticky, a very metallic taste when it dripped between her lips, almost like copper.

"Nothing like having a cherry popped, is there?" Eli smirked weakly. "Don't worry though, your button nose would have surely gotten used to it if I didn't have my orders."

That strange fist punched against her side again. She could have sworn she felt a free rib bend further than what it was supposed to.

"-GAH-" She yelped. "Why-are you doing this…?"

"Don't be so dense, 96." The stick man said. "Is it really so hard to comprehend?"

-She gagged. The fist found her belly for the first time, driving itself in, the blocky knuckles were right at home when it gave them a twist.

"YES!" she yelled. "GOD…!"

"Your mother cooks meat back at your house, does she not?" the stick man asked irrelevantly-yet she couldn't help how apt her haunting suspicion was.

"Yes…." She nodded. "A couple times…. She can make a mean sirloin that will knock you sideways and then some."

"Good." Stick face nodded. That face, it was so stiff, so wooden she was amazed gravity didn't yank him to the ground. "Before you can throw it on the grill or marinate it, you have to tenderize the meat first. Have you ever had tough meat before, 96? Because I can tell you that it's not fun!"

"Gee-thanks…!" she sneered weakly. It pained her even to grin. Strength drained from her muscles, dripping onto the glittering pavement below, pooling next to scarlet-her very own scarlet while it dried-baked in the harsh light. "NOT!"

"Now," Eli said, boots squelching wetly as he truly turned for the door, "I will be back in a minute. I need a couple things from the mess hall. This is going to get messy. Galil and I so want to enjoy this. Not that you'll be around when I come back, that is!"

Tank Man growled greedily… hungrily… eagerly.

"Goodbye, WKD4496." Eli threw her a half salute as he strolled through the open door… and out the next one. "We won't meet again!"

The steady, whining drone of Tank Man's tracks sealed her fate like the hot wax on the final letter of her life, Galil's hideous face staring back, grinning as it pressed its proverbial stamp into the wax. Its few lengthy strands of hair, natural hair waved at her dismissively while the rest of it rolled for the door, closing the door with its ridiculous talon as it spun around. It wanted privacy for its gruesome, damnable deed.

Its little tongue peeked at her at one corner of its twisted mouth, slipping from one corner to the other. A thin line of crimson was drawn, growing thicker as its blood oozed down the belly of that mandible blade. Its hazel eyes opened wider, its odd nostrils flared, and the falling and rising of its scarred chest quickened. It was excited; its own blood excited it!

The timed player in her mind fired up, flashing her life before her eyes. Scenes she had long forgotten about, ones just recently; her life completely. It wasn't the first time it played; her nemeses often handled it lackadaisically enough for her to weasel out. Her family, her friends, even Bonnie; there were so many missed opportunities, missed chances to come clean with everyone. And Ron… Ronald Stoppable, the man whom she probably was going to marry. She was never going to see any of them again.

She wanted to cry-

-"Blah…!" -

-But didn't as she felt something wet touch upon the small of her back, just above the waistband of her panties. It drew slowly up her spine, savoring the flesh of her s-curve where soft skin and metal touched together. Her bra strap snapped back into place as that wet, nasty thing slid up to her shoulders. Her breath fouled by the stench of its own. Its very stink felt as though it were beginning to condensate, dripping onto her neck in nasty dribbles.

They both gasped shallowly. This was it!

-KA-BANG-

Tank Man growled terribly at the ephemerally pitched sound of cracking glass-and a familiar touch of cool and sticky splashed onto her neck and shoulder. A racket banged out behind her, clattering like a bunch of large pieces of metal had hit the nasty ground all at once. A neat, clean hole had been punched in the one-way pane before her, about the size of a dime-and there was movement behind it!

Her savior hurried into view through the open door before her, closing the one that led to the rest of the facility. That door snapped as a black glove pushed the button on the knob. A small revolver shined brilliantly its nickel plating, a stern contrast to the darkness of the other glove. Blond hair, messy hair capped his head, freckles just below those two chocolate eyes dotting his boyish face squarely.

"Kim!" he squealed blaringly.

"R-Ron…?" she gasped.

-

It may have taken him a while to find the right room, but the good Lord made sure that he found Kim just in the nick of time. A drawn, lanky man had walked out of the observation room, his thin face cold and emotionless and set in stone-concrete perhaps. Thankfully Ron took to the underside of the nearby table flanking the door mere moments before the lanky man turned on a screeching heel. The man called back, not bothering to turn around as he stalked down the hall.

Carefully, he peeked over the edge of the table, just over the sill of the window!

-Uzi…-

The shape of the head, the nose, how his cheekbones barely peeked through the flesh of his face, and those eyes dotted with hazel. It had to be Drazen… or was it? An abused twin maybe, or even some sort of failed attempt at a clone perhaps? Its strange chest sat upon a tray that was flanked by four thick straps that rolled as it saw fit. A huge terrible claw of metal was fastened to it at the left shoulder. It growled strangely as turned around, somehow pushed the door beside him to a close.

His brain found purpose for that piece of cold steel clenched in his hand. He recognized it instantly as he thumbed the hammer all the way. His legs steadied him as he sprung to his feet, his free hand taking up the load of the dead weight as he brought it level to that strange melon as the rest of it rolled for Kim.

Kim hanged there helplessly as the tank person rolled behind her, chained at her wrists by two heavy-duty manacles, nasty looking, raw and crudely formed like ones he'd seen in many a dungeon. Stripped of her clothes and the dignity she held, he could have sworn a little drop sparkle at her eye. She was going to die; she knew it, though he couldn't be bothered to acknowledge it-he wouldn't. He strangled that plastic grip as though it were Drazen's own throat.

Then did he catch the terrible sight of that thing's jaw, cold and hard just like his revolver, simply unpolished though the light didn't seem to mind. It gleamed off the crude mandible brightly like it was on the finest polished surface in the land… sinking below the peak of Kim's small shoulder though the upper teeth dropped not. In fact, they came forward a couple of inches, casting a thin shadow upon her shoulder, shifting closer while the shade slipped up her neck. He'd never seen her face, so soft, so angelic; twist so painfully as a couple drops-thick and cloudy, nasty drops-fell upon her flesh.

He couldn't take it anymore.

A small cloud of dust puffed in his face as he sent that freak a message, forged in a slug with a damaging flat nose when it blew out of its greasy cocoon, crashing-smashing though the glass. The pairs of eyes in the next room popped open wide, wider even at that thundering sound. The freak's shriek terrible, but he jumped not as its blood splashed out its horrible mouth, slapping the nasty floor while some splashed on the girl. The Drazen wannabe fell over backwards; carried by its own damn claw-and it hit the ground in a terrible crash as though someone dropped all the silverware at once-and then some.

Unless one was deaf, then nobody within an earshot could have missed the racket. Quickly, he rushed over to the door flanking him, swinging it shut with boot and popping the privacy set locked with a slam of that little button on the knob. He seized the knob beside him then, turning it, his spine rolling in his body as the hinges' shriek hit his ears. Though he knew, only witnessing her moments before when he sneaked into the room, it wouldn't click in his brain-it simply wouldn't. He had actually saved her!

-But how's that different from any other mission…-

He shrugged it off as he set foot in the nasty room, feeling his short lunch work its way back up his throat as he took a short glance around. The room, wide and lengthy, speckled and dappled with crusty black and browns, strewn about with organic nastiness on the floor that sloped gently to a crusty, bloodied drain at the center. The freak on the upturned wheels loved to get his hands dirty, all right…!

"Kim!" he squeaked nervously.

"R-Ron…?" she blinked. "Is that really you…?"

"Yeah." He nodded, hurrying himself toward her. "I've come to save the day…. I hope…!"

His arms wrapped around her chest tightly, squeezing all the joy and happiness he felt into her. But out her mouth came a strained groan, thick with the ache and the pain she must have endured.

"-OH-" She barked. "Ron, please…! Not now…."

"Oh…." His arms dropped from her completely. "I'm sorry."

"Forget about it, Ron." She forced herself to smirk just the slightest. "Just get me down!"

"Right."

He nodded complacently, the length of her chest up falling below him as he lifted his eyes to the ceiling. Those crude restraints were mere manacles, just the ancient form of handcuffs he'd read about back in history, during the infamous inquisition, with a very thick, imposing chain in between. A thick hook that dangled from the ceiling held that chain firmly, but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle. It really wasn't as his arms wrapped around the girl just above her hips, hoisting her up. The chain made a racket, jangling loudly-and it slapped him on the back firmly when Kim did the rest.

"Sorry 'bout that!" she apologized.

"Forget it." He shook it off as he set her down upon her feet. "My back though…!"

"Like I said before." She said. Her chains jangled as she yanked them taut. "But we don't have much time. Do you know how to get these things off quickly?"

"Glad you asked, KP!" he smirked, giving the pocket on his pants a hearty pat. The warm blob inside wiggled predictably. "And you said I should get a normal pet…!"

"Not -now, Ron…!" she frowned.

"Of course!" he nodded. "Rufus, you're on little buddy!"

His pocket flattened against his leg, the soft weight lifting up off him as his little buddy wormed his way out. Those little claws of his tapped on the grimy pavement just after he leapt off, clicking metrically as he scampered for Kim's feet. Her toes curled a little when the rodent clambered up her instep, lifting himself to his hind legs, those huge buckteeth arcing when he opened his little mouth-

-And down those teeth came swiftly, slicing through the accessory cord like it were threadbare. The freshly cut ends whipped around her ankles as she put her feet back to good use, rolling off into a lengthy ovoid around her feet. Time for those nasty chains but Rufus was way ahead of him, scampering carefully up the length of her legs, her torso, and up her arms. Kim cringed as he clawed his way up her forearms. Again those buckteeth rocked back slowly-

-And down them came, again and again and again, so swiftly, too many times to even try to count. Sparks flew; lines of yellow shot out from the pet in a bright fountain, hissing as each of them vanished on the ground below in a wisp of gray, all the way down the length of the manacle till-

-CHINK-

-The soft color of her flesh blossomed through the raw steel like a patch dandelions on concrete. The heavy chain jangled like a leather strap full of Christmas bells, sweeping low off her wrist, swaying like a pendulum on a grandfather clock. Rufus took a leap of faith, jumping from one wrist to the other. Kim bared her teeth, growling, as the rat caught on by a claw.

"Rufus!" she ungratefully whined.

A drop of red fattened there, smearing while Rufus scampered its way up her other forearm. Another haze of bright yellow poured onto the pavement, shifting down the length of her wrist and then some when the rodent put its teeth to work. The chain dropped at his feet with a heavy -clank-.

"Thanks…." She smirked, thumbing that little smear of red. "I think."

"You think…?" he blinked. "I just saved you from impending doom, and all you can do is think?"

"We're not out of the woods yet, Ron!" she took a knee briefly, scooping up that heavy chain with a hands. She let out a grunt-and the chain rolled over her shoulder like a common rope, nearly clipping him in the face in the process. "And from the way things look, the numbers aren't on our side! How's the trip over?"

"Deserted, practically." He shrugged. "A guard here and there pulling guard duty, but I didn't take any chances. Something big is about to go down; everybody on site's about to move out!"

"Just like I thought." She shook her head.

"Can you walk?" he asked.

"I've just been 'tenderized', Ron." She said bitterly. "My shoulder sucks, and my leg felt better days, but it's not as bad as it was Saturday afternoon! I can handle myself. But we have to get out of here, quickly! If freak-head here gets a clear head, then we're as good as dead!"

"What are you talking about, KP?" he blinked. "I put one through his mouth! There's no way he could have survived that!"

A strange noise rang through the nasty room, a buzzing, crackling sound and a terrible squawk like a crow that landed on a threadbare power line. Metal shrieked nearby, moaning and groaning painfully as though someone was ripping it, tearing it a new one.

"Guess he did!" Kim exclaimed barely over the rattling chain.

The end of it fell to the floor with a clanging -THUNK, dragging, scratching at the pavement as Kim stormed right for the creature as it twitched, writhing in a small puddle of its own reddish fluids. Standing beside its head, just out of its reach, she reared that chain behind her-then above her-and then over her deflated mane! Out came from the freak a noise he had never heard before nor did he wish to ever hear it again-but he did when Kim brought it down again… and again… and again…. Its blood had splashed against her shins, oozing down her forelegs in thin trails.

Kim finally rolled that chain onto her shoulder again, drips of its blood oozing onto her shoulder and the floor. Her chest heaved dramatically; her breath drew inside her through bared teeth and snarled lips, and her eyes were locked, frozen into a terrible, quivering rage. It was terrifying, like their botched date all over again.

"That should keep it… for a while…!" she panted.

"-Blah…-" Rufus brought himself to gag, scurrying back up to his burrow.

"Feel better now, Kim?" he asked firmly. "Hope so, 'cause we got a lot of ground to cover!"

"I've been tenderized, Ron…!" She hunched, an arm wrapping around her waist tightly like a constricting snake. Her teeth were bared through widely parted lips, sneering and twitching. "God, it hurts…!"

"Tenderized…?" he blinked.

"Don't ask." She shook her head violently, cringing. "Just… don't! But-do you have some painkillers or something?"

"Sure." he sighed, folding his arms irritably. "I'm just a walking chemist! Let me whip the magic bottle of ibuprofen out of my ass! But whoops-sorry! My trunk is fresh out!"

"Shit, Ron!" she growled back. "You don't have to be an ass about it!"

"We're practically out of time!" He exclaimed. "Everybody's leaving, and Drazen expects you dead by now! And just where do we fish for painkillers-that laboratory I saw? Hello-that's clear on the other side of the complex, AKA fifteen minutes out of the way!"

"Yes!" she exclaimed back. "It's a start, anyway…!"

"What?" he blinked.

"Just take me there, Ron!" she made her way for the door the best she could, hobbling while she angled most of her weight through one leg. "We don't have much time!"

"That's what I've been saying!" he threw up his hands. "And what do you say to the man who rescued you, huh? A thank you wouldn't kill you, you know!"

"Come -ON, Ron!" she growled back.

"Back to normal, all right…!" he sighed. "I give up."


	36. Chapter 36

36

"Okay, Kim." Ronald said casually, thumbing the tiny plunger. Frost tingled on a small spot on the small of her back as a few drips glistened brilliantly in the light, trailing down slowly… lingeringly… coyly down the length of that thin shaft of steel. "You're going to feel a little pressure…."

"Ron," her eyes rolled typically, though they didn't wander -too- far from that silvery sliver, "so not the drama! I've been through Hell, for Pete's sake! A little prick isn't going to kill me… I hope!"

"What?" his lids closed-opening just as quickly over those chocolate dotted orbs.

"Do you even know what you're doing, Ron?" she asked. "For all I know, you could be pushing the bubbles out of some ammonia!"

A disgusted sigh, the corners of those thin lips dipping into a frown. "Reading is fundamental, KP!"

"What is that stuff anyway?"

"Prophylactics." The sliver jerked when his fingers tapped against the cylinder. "So don't worry. Though I have some moments, I'm not a complete flake!"

"Right."

"Given your treatment," he said, "and with that thing! Full of holes and bleeding like a royal Russian family, smacking you around like a speed bag, who knows what got inside you."

"Understandable."

The chilled air, the sheer cold of the table poking deeper into her buttocks, the utter soreness that burned within her like five-alarm fire; for the first time in at least 24 hours, they had nothing when Ron gently took her arm by the wrist. The needle slashed through the air gracefully, so elegantly it made a tiny swish. She looked away; she couldn't bear to see it, pressing her teeth together while her nerves drew an unnerving picture in her mind-right at the crook of her arm. She could have sworn her joint expanded-inflating like a party balloon.

"Whatever you do, Kim…" Ron said in a slowly like a professional, "don't flinch!"

Out it went, slickly and cleanly just as his fingers pressed gently against her joint.

"All done!" his pink, pudgy fail-safe exclaimed.

"So I feel…." She groaned. "Damn!"

"Was that really so bad, KP?" Ron said rhetorically-just like her mother. "Just a little prick!"

"Goody, I'm clean-" She cringed-fingers spearing for that small tangerine that mystically found its way into her shoulder. It felt like it grew; the pads of her fingers sat unevenly at the tip of her collarbone, forming around it. "-OH- Damn it…!"

The metal sliver met the floor with a sharp -TING-. "KP?"

"My shoulder…!" she pressed her teeth together tightly, just feeling the enamel rub against each other. "GOD-it hurts! Thought it was better-but wrong again…!"

"What's wrong with it?" he asked. "Did you break it?"

"M-Might have…!" she stuttered. "Shit! Feels like a goddamn softball's stuck there…!"

"Water in the joint." He noted. "That's probably it. The injection must have agitated it or something."

"No shit!" it passed out through her teeth in a growling bark.

"Can you still move?"

"Barely…."

"That does it, Kim." The soft chest of black disappeared, falling down like a curtain before her. A patch of dirty yellow sat squarely in front of her kneecaps briefly before the black shot back up. A thin metal line glinted inches above his dark mitten. "I've got to drain it!"

"No…!" she shook her head. "Don't…!"

That thin metal line floated closer.

"It won't take long." Ron continued. "I promise I won't hurt you-"

"No, Ron!" she shook her head furiously. Her grungy locks slapped her in the face.

"KP, I-"

"I said NO, RON!" she shouted, and her fingers, her palm flattened instantly, sweeping for his hand. The skin at the base of her pinky reared up against the sliver sharply, irritably. The metal spiraled aimlessly in the air, completely opposite of two-maybe four drops… translucent, crimson spots—

No…-

That slapped onto the table no more than a foot away from her hip.

She swore loudly when she looked at her hand; red oozed around the base of her little finger in a thin line. The blond looked at her dumbstruck.

"KP, what the hell!"

"No time!" sluggishly, she pushed herself off the table. Her feet felt awkward as her soles flattened against the hard linoleum, wanting seemingly to walk off on their own in different directions. The girth of Ron's torso thankfully did its inadvertent best to keep her lips off the floor. "We've got to get out of here… now!"

"Whoa… hold your horses, Kim!" Gently, carefully he pushed her back up as she guided her feet back under. "I know time's against us, but you can barely walk!"

"Ron…!" what little of her strength she still held fast, she channeled it into her quivering throat. Her voice became a crescendo while her hands just grasped the boy's loose shirt. "Innocent people are going to die-do you hear me? Do you-GET THAT?"

"KP…." Ron pushed her hands down, off of him. One of his hands clasped gently around her good shoulder. "You've been through a lot in the past day, I understand completely. Innocent people will die; I get that fine-but remember that even more will die if we lose our cool! So get a nice, tight hold of yourself-and fast! This whole damn planet's counting on us!"

"What the hell am I doing?" sense had a difficult time as she tried to shake it back into her head. A palm met her face, dragging at what little of loose skin as she drew it down. "You're right."

"After your little -outburst- back in that nasty room, I wouldn't worry about that freak." Ron shrugged. "Chain to the head…! Man, forget about him… or it-whatever floats your boat. And even if by some crazy fluke it's still kicking-rolling, this looks like a temperature control lab! Judging by the AC, I'd say it'd be too cold for it to smell us."

That was the truth, so it appeared to be anyway. Large black vents above, stuck in a mess of wiring, pipes, and vents circulated cold air into the room, practically blowing it in. A LCD fixed squarely beside the clock on the back wall told her how quickly her blood was chilling in Fahrenheit, in rather large, red numbers. Under shelves of large, looming jars of mysterious nastiness, large, complicated arrays of tubes, bottles and jars, flasks and beakers sat on the counters, alive, teaming, filled to the brims with solids, gasses, and liquids. They seemed to glow, even in the bright fluorescents, pale with a hue of green like death, flowing together in a strange culmination on the table nearby, stagnating in a rather large tank the size of a water cooler. How appropriate. She didn't want to know what would happen if even a drop splashed on her, let alone an open wound.

"I don't even want to know what they were making down here." She said.

"It's not Gatorade," Ron replied, "I can tell you that much. Should we take some samples?"

"Forget it." She said. "No use if our resident genius is in jail at the moment. Besides, what goes on in this hellhole should stay in this hellhole before the cavalry blows it sky high! It's probably just acid anyway, or some other corrosive substance."

"Right." He nodded. "How're your legs?"

"I'm-still in pain, Ron." She frowned. "I can move, but I'll need some help. Still, some ibuprofen would be great right about now…!"

"Don't worry about it, KP." He smiled warmly. "Besides the good old comic relief, I'm that little splash of Diablo Sauce on your burrito that'll make your day! I'm the vinaigrette that makes your house salad oh-so more enjoyable, and the white stuff in your pastry!"

"Where's the cream filling…?" they shared a laugh together.

"Mr. Horse here can give you a -hint, KP," Ron said naughtily, "but then, I'm afraid you wouldn't like me anymore…!"

"Mr. Horse can keep to himself!" she said. "Is this your first time you saw a girl in her panties, let alone your best friend-hmm…?"

"Duh, Kim…." Ron took her hint at face value, shying his gaze away. Flesh just below those freckles flushed hotly with color, even his ears. "It's what some dreams are made of, if you're a guy! …And then some!"

She didn't want to know, not right now, though she had a fairly good idea what he meant.

"I believe that!" she grinned weakly. "And if it's anything, it's the first time I let a guy look at me this -exposed!"

The back of his head, the tight mat of dirty blond hair angled acutely with the floor. "Really?"

"Considering the alternative back there," she nodded, "hell-I'd rather be saved in my birthday suit than let that thing have its way!"

"I'd be worried if you didn't, Kim." He replied.

"Ron, did I say you could shun me?"

Her wrist bowed when she put her hand on his cheek, turning his head around gently. Those big eyes of his, warm and gentle, the whites grew slowly while his lids parted wider. Those two black dots that dotted those warm chocolate puddles grew too, dilating. His lips parted ever so slightly as those eyes rolled down as far as possible, taking their sweet time rolling back up.

Rufus let out a noise, a kind of droning sound that could barely qualify as a note, flat and hard on her tender ears. She couldn't help but take a peek, eyes way ahead of her-and wished had kept them under a tight leash. Rufus, everybody's favorite African Hairless was gaga, those dark beads boggled-overwhelmed completely BY HER!

"Get a girlfriend, Rufus!" She sighed. Rufus made a squeak when she gingerly pushed the rat back down its burrow.

"What'd you say, KP…?" Ron asked catatonically, the big brown lamps were on yet nobody was home.

"Ron," carefully, she pushed herself closer to his ear, "do you know what'd make this situation better…?"

"Whip cream…?" he replied. Her throat quivered slightly as she felt a case of acid reflux come upon her. "Maybe chocolates and sprinkles topping a layer of chocolate shell…?"

"No Ron…." She whispered.

"What's that then, KP…?"

"Some-PANTS!" she yelled. Ron stumbled over his own feet, nearly toppling onto the table.

"Huh?"

"You heard me, Ronald!" she frowned. "As much as I -KIND OF- enjoyed your helpless state, I'm going to turn into an icicle here!"

"Oh." He blinked. "That's right! Clothes…."

"You caught me on a good day, Ron." She rubbed her shoulder just below the softball. Something wet and slick moistened a spot on her arm around the pinky finger, something that stained the skin of her arm in thin, red smears, a grim reminder of the cause of horrors she beheld. "It doesn't got to be Club Banana this time! Even Smarty Mart's good enough!"

"Coming from the fashion queen?" he blinked. "THE retail snob? Boy, isn't this a Kodak Moment…!"

"Shut it!" she growled. "I don't need a whole ensemble. Just some pants."

"You can't go outside like Rambo at this time of night." Ron replied.

"Why not?"

"Hello," Ron knocked gently on his own skull, "anybody home in there? It's the desert, KP! You'll catch pneumonia!"

"Oh." She blinked. "Right."

"I spotted a laundry room not too far from here." Ron said. "You should find something there. But we've used enough time already. We'd better get going. Care for some help, KP?"

"Of course." She smiled weakly. "And-sorry I was a rabid bitch."

"That's okay, KP." He smiled back as he took her good arm into his warm grasp. He weaved his head under his own arm just as he pulled her closer. A warm sensation tingled in her belly while he wrapped her arm around the back of his neck, burning when she felt his other arm coil around her waist. She simply shrugged it off. It wasn't like it was the first time it happened. "We all have our days."

"Isn't that the goddamn truth…." She nodded. "Let's just go. The sooner, the better."

"Your wish is my command, K!"

BAMM-

"-P...!"

The ceiling roared out at them in a horrible bang. The readout on the back wall flickered briefly. The arrays jingled when glass knocked amongst each other and loose instruments jumped a couple centimeters off the countertops, only to fall back down in a nasty clatter. Wires swayed while the pipes rattled overhead-and a single vent lost much of its shape as a piece of it grew exponentially, expanding swiftly into a lopsided bulb… as though someone-rather-some-thing- was pounding at it!

"Oh… CRAP!" she cursed.

The vent finally gave way in a milky cloud of dust, crashing to the floor in a rattling clatter. The glass barely rang, the instruments hardly leapt from the table while a thick shadow flopped out of the ceiling, reaching for the floor like thick ooze. It let out a familiar, terrible snarl-and the ceiling screeched, warping and twisting so painfully it was a miracle she could even look.

The milky curtain of dust finally wiggled loose of its proverbial rod, motes twirling to the floor, their final resting place while the bane of her displeasing stay growled their swan song. Familiar orbs, doted with eager, lustful hazel, leered for her greedily, hungrily. She could see its fiery breath, billowing out of that menacing jaw in thick, noxious plumes of gray-black.

Thankfully that chain put a real nasty chink in its crimson-slicked helm, practically a dent. The left eye was practically buried in a thick gnarls of black and blue that was dragged over from the left, the temple fractured certainly and was dragged along with it. The jaw looked broken on the left, dropping more that what it should have with the actuator snapped clean off, hanging loosely from the cheekbone like a strange piercing. Its hand of strange flesh gave the mandible a hearty tap, listening to ring flatly… if it could do such a thing-before it let out another terrible growl.

"Too cold to smell us, eh…?" she frowned. "Think again, Stoppable!"

"How was I supposed to know?" he exclaimed.

The freak reared back its head. A hollow, ragged sound filled the room; it was a crescendo-and the little flame that swayed atop that large, oral tube sank right into it!

"Forget it!" she pushed herself away from him. "MOVE!"

Ronald yelped, tumbling to the floor over his own feet when her bear paw pushed firmly against his sternum-and a ragged cone of yellows, oranges, and reds shot past her, glowing, lapping hotly for her when its master shouted. She yelped herself, the furious heat caused her too to leap backwardly for the cold tile-

And then it was out, just like that, the reheat dissipated like vapor, consumed by the cold. The room, it was an ice cube on par with the Antarctic. Perhaps it was too frosty for the flamer to work efficiently. Playing it easy, she carefully rolled herself to her side-her body jumped reflexively when her hip touched something hot-not lukewarm, not even cold-hot like a soldering iron. She heard it, water crackling, fizzling. The patch of skin dried up instantly; she could feel it shrink.

"God-If I didn't have ENOUGH crap wrong…!" she growled, wiggling her way back a few inches. A piece of the table had dribbled on the floor-dribbled- on the floor! It had pooled into a little misshapen circle while the rest of the table, that sleek and shiny table forged from stainless steel had become butter in an instant, melting in a thick glob. The glass window above dripped onto the steel in orange, glowing gobs. "With… me…!"

"I don't WANT TO MELT!" Ron cried as he scrambled to his feet. One of his cargo pockets shivered predictably.

"Don't touch the flame!" she shouted. "You'll be butter in an instant!"

"Don't have to tell me twice!"

She forced herself to a squat-and she dived over the molten metal while the freak gasped again. She stole a look in mid-flight; the freak had its head reared back, and that little flame was nowhere to be seen!

"Oh CRAP!" she exclaimed as she came out of her dive, rolling to her cold feet. Ron's eyes darted uselessly, his feet frozen while his waist twisted him around, as though looking for some emergency box to break open for the solution to his quandary. His feet thawed instantly when she seized him by a short sleeve. "The next room, Ron! GO!"

She felt another dive come upon her as the Tank Man roared again. The heat of his fury wisped against the flesh of her back when it blew through the door, so hotly that it was unbearable. The flames crashed against back wall of the next room, her eyes could catch wisps of jet-black fume from out the wall, and the stench of burning rubber bands blew into her nose-

But yet again, the flames vanished into thin air though their traces could easily be seen, staring her right in the face. It felt like a nightmare; she felt so hopeless, so powerless that she just wanted to awaken to her bedroom back in Middleton. Yet the nasty, smoking blackness on the wall, the contusions on her body had power, showing to her how real was everything around despite how unreal it seemed.

That's why I can't wake up…-

This room reminded her of the one back in the stick man's little fun house, small and cramped, where one would look on with impunity while the men did their jobs. Thankfully, the room had not the bizarre and unnerving instruments she had been accustom too over the past day or so. A rather large control panel sat squarely in front of the squared hole where that magic mirror was planted, festooned with more buttons, slides, and jog-wheels than she could shake a stick at.

"The control panel!" she said. "That's it!"

"-Oh…-" Ron groaned, "what's it…?"

"Fight fire with fire, Ron!" she said.

"We're a little short of a M2-2 at the moment, KP!"

"Trust me on this!" she said. "Just get to the control panel! Rufus!"

A couple of whiny grunts came out of Ron's favorite cargo pocket. The African Hairless managed to wiggle his tiny little head out from under the pocket's flap. Those black beads blinked while he angled his head, slipping the rest of his body out before his owner pushed himself to his feet.

Another blink. "Hmm…?"

"Rufus!" a sigh of relief gladly blew out her mouth. "Glad to see you're not bacon!"

"True-true!" the rat grinned.

Out from the previous room came another hollow, ragged growl. Despite the pain in her body, the burning intense, she had managed to roll away from the door before the real heat blasted inside. Rufus made like the Road Runner, the clicking of his claws in an all-out skitter before the white-hot flames bathed the floor.

"Rufus!" she exclaimed. "That freak on wheels!"

"Uh-huh-uh-huh!" the rodent hung onto her hasty words tightly. "Yep…?"

"The wires!" she said haggardly. "On the back of its head! Cut them-sever them all! I got this feeling…!"

"Uh-huh…?" the rodent nodded.

"Now!" As carefully as her trembling limbs would let her, she scooped that little African Hairless into her hands. Predictably he made a squeak of surprise as she cocked her good arm back, but it was instantly buried underneath yet another shallow, ragged growl howled out from the next room. Those brilliant hazel orbs glinted sharply in the light, grinning at her as it were while that fleshly lip of its curled into itself atop that slick row of soiled pearly whites.

It reared its strange head back again-this was it, no time for second thoughts, no regrets!

"RUFUS!" the hairless' master shouted. "KIM! WHAT THE HELL?"

"Fly, baldy!" came her reply. "FLY!"

The rat shrieked terribly, a scream so terrible that it did more hurt to her ears than the freak's grotesqueries. He made like a football, spiraling perfectly with practiced ease of a professional, drilling into the air while it sank into a dive. Her hasty preparation seemed to be working; the freak was caught off guard, ceasing its furious howl, practically choking on its own foul breath.

A little ball of fuming black puffed out from that tube mere seconds after Rufus dug its nails into its face. Whatever wounds the rodent did claw, it was lost completely on that strange, tight flesh. Feebly, the Tank Man tried to swat at him with that metal claw-it was too bulky, too large and cumbersome to even grace the tip of its nose. The rat had sank behind the head, wiggling below the horizon of its skull long before the thing realized it had still a natural arm-

"YES…!" it came out with welcome relief-

The arm that still wielded it some use while that talon plummeted to the linoleum, the arrays jumping, crashing into each other when the floor resonated in a hefty -BANG! Those dots of hazel shrank, overwhelmed by a field of white as Tank Man let out a terrible growl.

Rufus had a gleam in those dark beads, beaming the triumph they shared so joyously. Ron let out a whistle, not unlike the ones that had pierced her ears during a football or a basketball game back at school. She thought they had caught a "boo-yah" out through the rodent's buckteeth as it leapt from the top of Tank Man's skull, scampering for her on the center table. Rufus judged it wrong; he was too small to clear the space between the table and the windowsill. Thankfully Ron had caught him with an open glove.

"Good little hairless rodent…!" she said.

Her smirk was fleeting at best. The corners of her lips dropped, pulling the rest into a stern frown, the top wrinkling into a sneer as she stared daggers at the root of her current irritation. The whining drawls of servos, the encroaching mark of its sadistic, terrible-evil- presence that stalked her so, had died. By the utter grace of the Almighty, its bite rivaled not the sound of its bark. The dirty little secret was out, staring helplessly back at her in the face. Tank Man was utterly gone; Drazen's attack dog was nothing more than a hobbled sibling after all.

"Well, well, well…!" she huffed. "Look's like your human after all! Hell-looking at you, G, I'm not even sure that you are human! If you do, you can barely be classified as! Look how pathetic you look clinging to life with that crap! I guess I never really noticed till now…! You are fearsome, Galil, I'll give you that. But that's all you are! Don't expect anything else from me-not anymore!"

Those eyes shot her a dirty look. SFC Jude was right, so it seemed.

"Understand me, huh?" she shot back. "Good for you! Hope you told your brother goodbye, G! Hope you made peace with God, since you're going out to pasture like the little monster everybody knew!"

"KP…." She turned for the blond. Those chocolate eyes of his gazed at her incredulously, almost in sheer amazement. "What are you saying?"

She closed her eyes, taking in a cool breath. Thoughts were a muddle as they raced through her mind, so merciful, so cruel, so kind, so hateful, so disturbing. It was a giant schizophrenia. Ron didn't know what she was saying? Hell-after the past few days, she didn't know what the hell passed through her lips anymore, maybe never again….

"Burn it."

"I'm sorry?" Ron batted his eyes, those dark and innocent chocolate eyes. Amazing really, how the boy had the courage to pull the trigger against the freak in the first place.

"You heard me, Ron." She nodded. "Burn it."

"Are you serious!"

"Ron!" she growled. "There is NO argument here! Need I remind you that we got a maniac to pursue?"

"KP…."

"Don't feel sorry for this creep!" she said. "It's a killer all right-and God only knows how many it done in before! You of all people should know what your Torah says about murders!"

Ron batted those eyes again. For some reason they looked so hurt, but why though…?

"Burn it, Ron!" she said again. "It's a temperature controlled laboratory, after all. Just spin the jog-wheel, put the temperature at max, and hit the button! If you're worried that it'll get out, don't. Rufus severed all the wiring. It's not going anywhere!"

Ron blinked again, still as incredulous as ever.

"Don't look at me like that!" she frowned. "I'm legally sane, you know!"

"KP, it's not your sanity that worries me." He shook his head. A hand of his smacked the panel sideways, fingers arcing backwards while they rolled off the jog-wheel. The wheel buzzed while it spun swiftly on the panel. "But in recent light, you're beginning to scare me!"

"What?" her brow kinked.

"Listen to yourself, Kim!" Ron put his attention on the panel, fingers almost hyper-extending on the sliders. "What would your parents think? Looking back long before we even heard of The Family, do you honestly think you sound the same as before?"

She growled.

"I thought as much." Ron dragged his finger around the circumference of the button, tracing it. "You're not that bubbly cheerleader anymore. I don't even think -sakai- begins to describe it. It's more unbridled rage or something."

"Are you done?" she folded her arms.

"Fine." He shook his head. "Have it your way, KP. I should know better than to toss pearls to swine!"

Her brow kinked. "And just what's that supposed to mean, Ronald?" she said crossly.

"Figure it out, Kimberly!" he shook his head again. His finger fell onto the button at its dead center, the pad simply resting on the piece of plastic, dulling its sheen quite a bit. "Nothing's impossible for a Possible, after all."

The hobbled ass took in a haggard breath, and when she looked-it already had its strange head reared back. The flame that had burned atop of that blackened tube was nowhere to be seen. No more time for tit-for-tat-and the button had no problem sinking into the control panel when it met the bottom of her hammering fist.

"OW!" Ron yelped. "My FINGER! DAMN!"

He snoozed; he lost, and nearly broke his index in the process. Her hand slipped off the button when the boy tore his finger out from under, but the deed had been done, playing out before her on the LCD. The numbers to the right cycled faster than the ones flanking them to their left, the temperature rising exponentially. The freak nearly choked on its own breath, a little black cloud pluming out of the flamer, practically indistinguishable when the room glared at her in a fiery, furious red. So hot, so intense; the heat blowing in her face that she had to back up a step. She almost felt sorry for the freak, and thankfully "was" and "almost" did not have interchangeable meanings.

The thing was practically dead in the boiling water, flailing his only arm wildly, predictably, fighting against the scorching heat of that terrible redness. It let out a buzzing shriek, screaming at her while she simply watched those red numbers climb well over the 175 mark. The flailing of that arm slowed dramatically; it was working till finally that keeled over on its cart. Slowly, it lifted that strange head up and gazed upon her with those hazel orbs, so broken, so lost. She felt her heart shift a bit. It let out another noise, a final moan, drowned within that crackling buzz.

Its head made a sturdy bang when it crashed into its rolling cart. It was done; finally, it was gone. The room dropped the glare when she thumbed the button again, easing back into its normal parameters, gazing at her brilliantly with bright fluorescents. Certainly it wasn't hot enough for it to catch ablaze, though the heat lamps had cooked Tank Man to a golden brown-almost good enough to eat!

She blinked before her locks swished before her, side to side. It was time to go, of course, and it couldn't have come sooner.

"Feel better now, Kim?" Ron nursed his sore finger with the other hand. "It's dead."

"So you're not blind." She smirked bitterly. "Good to hear. Can you fire a gun too?"

"Don't be an ass, KP!" Ron frowned. "We're wasting time! Can we just get a move on-please? Though I've wondered what it'd be like to be ambidextrous, I'd like to go before I become completely LEFT HANDED!"

"Point taken, Ron." She nodded. "But there's one more thing I have to do."

"And what's that?" He rolled his eyes. "Pee on the corpse?"

"Don't be disgusting." She hobbled over to the doorway. Tank Man lay before her in a cooked heap; even in death its smell was something else, drilling into her nose still. Her soles felt warmth on the floor as she walked for the doorway; she took a step in-and yanked it out. The tiles-they were hot, burning. She felt a piece of skin shrink dramatically while she caught a faint sizzle. "OW!"

"Can't stand the heat, KP…." Ron shrugged.

"Out of the kitchen!" His rodent finished for him. "Huh!"

"That's right, little buddy." She sighed. "But Rufus, can you do me a little favor?"

"Ma'am!" the rat shot her a salute.

"In the temp room, do you see that large tank of green nastiness?" she pointed. "You can't miss it, even if you tried."

"Yep-yep!" it nodded.

"No use trying to push it off the counter." She continued. "I thought I saw a little spout on the front."

"I see!" it nodded again.

"Thankfully, it's in the right position." She said. "I need you to open that spout."

"KP?" Ron blinked.

"Dump as much nastiness on it as you can." She nodded. "No way it's coming after us again!"

"Yes ma'am!" Rufus saluted.

She took him into her hands, guiding him over to the closest countertop as much as her joints would let her. Rufus gingerly hopped off. It was quite a spectacle, watching that little guy island hop from table to table, table to counter, scampering for that glowing tank. A naked paw met the top of his bald noggin, scratching as it gazed upon that tank.

"KP, are you sure about this?" Ron asked. "Though Tank Man's dead now, shouldn't you leave it in peace? It never hurts to quit while you're ahead."

"And it never hurts to kick the enemy right in the balls when he's down!" she said simply. "Hit it, Rufus!"

"Ma'am!" the rodent squeaked, and a gush of flowing liquid filled her ears. The pale green liquid drained from the tank as the rat kicked the spout off-clean off! It clattered to the floor hollowly, skittering a few inches down the room before it was overwhelmed by the mysterious green goop. Raining acid on the freak's botched parade! Rufus didn't need to be told twice as he hightailed it back.

"Good naked mole rat!" she grinned as he hopped back into her hand. His pale cheeks went flush with deep red as her lips met his skin. "Thanks!"

"He-huh!" The rat nearly fainted. "Welcome!"

"Come on, Ron." She said. "Let's go!"

"'Bout time, KP." He nodded.

A stirring poked her in the ear while Ron took her around the waist, one of her arms behind his head. She stole a final glimpse into that room. Nothing looked off, and Tank Man was still down for the count. But something stirred in that temp room, she was sure. But it was so soft, so faint that perhaps her brain clicked wrongly. Perhaps it was the liquid, nothing more-but still!

"Something up, KP?" Ron asked.

"No…." she shrugged. "Nothing. It's nothing; forget it. Let's get going."

"SECOND!" Rufus… well-seconded.


	37. Chapter 37

37

The rest of the walk was a quiet one for obvious reasons, not a single word was shared between them. The quieted sound of their own footsteps filled their ears steadily, rhythmically as they sneaked for the entrance, the entrance that Ron told her about anyway. She remembered it too as she was dragged inside: a long, rusty catwalk over an enormous oil vat that led to some sort of parking lot. Her brain wasn't damaged after all; it wasn't something she simply dreamt up when Ron pushed open that heavy blast door.

Freedom was just up ahead, waiting for her in the small little parking lot, four rubber feet ready to burn, eager to haul her the hell out of Dodge.

"Here it is, KP." Ronald brushed off his hands on his pants. "Just like I told you."

"Somehow, I had a feeling you'd bring us here." She sighed. "I can't complain really, since someone left us another lovely Hummer to steal."

"Boy's Uzi going to be pissed when he finds out!" Ron smirked devilishly. "Not that he'll care about it anymore. Don't worry about taking Drazen down anymore, KP."

"And why's that?" she asked crassly. "Someone called it first?"

"Yep, something of that nature." He nodded. "In a short time, this place will be swarming with IDF and some serious firepower. So why don't we just blow this pop stand and watch the fireworks?"

"Sounds pretty grim, Ron." She noted.

"True," he nodded, "but after what we've been through, I could really give a damn anymore."

"Yep!" Rufus threw in his two pieces of copper.

"Even with the army on our side, Drazen's got one more trick up his sleeve!" she said. "And I think you know what I'm talking about."

"You mean…?"

"The siege weapon, Ron." She nodded. "It's complete!"

"Super…!" he rolled his eyes. "Just when we think we're out! Shouldn't we leave that for the bunker busters?"

"Nice idea, but it'll be long gone before the jets show up." She explained. "I saw that thing with my own eyesit's huge! Three huge cannons, each the size of half a football field! God only knows what kind of ammo those are supposed to shoot! Two flank the control tower while the other sits atop of it. The base of it is like a giant tank, with two treads on each sidekind of like that freak. Though it was shrouded pretty much in the shade, I happened to see a couple of turrets with two machine guns each: both heavy caliber, one bigger than the other. No reason to think that the stern doesn't have the same thing."

"Another needless weapon." Ron frowned.

"You're right, Ron." She nodded. "We'd ought to get out of here, but we should help Israel as much as we can, don't you agree?"

"Of course, KP." He nodded. "But how. From your description, it sounds almost impossible to completely destroy that thing even for us."

"Nothing's impossible for a Possible, Ron." She smirked. "You should know that by now. We don't have to destroy it per se."

"What do you mean then?" he asked.

"If we bring the house down on it." She explained simply. "Then we don't have to, and bury Drazen along with the rest of those crazies along with it. Besides, we won't have to worry about either side using this place for their own ends!"

"-Oy gevalt ishmer…! -" Ron sighed, putting a hand to his face, letting gravity take its time dragging it down.

"I'm trying to be fair, Ron." She said. "Despite your personal feelings, Ron, we came in as a neutral party and that's how we're going to stay!"

"You're neutral." He corrected. "Not me."

"Huh?" she blinked.

"Come on, KP." He sighed. "Let's get this over with. Nowhow do you suggest we trash this place?"

"I should have known…." She shook her head gently.

Despite his devil-may-care approach, he'd keep his heels buried into the ground when he set his mind on something, keeping them planted come Hell or high water. It was a waste of time to convince him otherwise really, kind of like her, come to think of it.

"Anyway-below us is a ridiculously large oil vat, right." Her flattened hand went up to the opposite shoulder, sweeping down gracefully to the rusty grating underfoot. Her foot tapped the grating twice. "See? Can't miss it really."

"Oh right…!" the blond nodded slowly, seemingly understandingly. "So?"

She blinked. Typical Ron all right; the special dyad between them was functioning once again.

"In simple words," she sighed, "ignite the oil, this whole place will come burning down. That's my conclusion from a plumbing standpoint. Judging by the power, this oil has to be circulated through the entire facility to several diesel generators at least."

"Oh, okay." Ron nodded. "And if they're still fueling up their siege weapon, this little oil fire could put their launch on a definite hold. But we're short of a lighter, KP. And I don't think that even the cars over there have one."

"They probably don't." She said.

Ron slipped his fingers into the pockets with the biggest bulk. The bulk then flattened, the cloth deflating back against his leg when his hand came out with the .357. It twirled awkwardly by the trigger guard by the finger, clumsily like a newcomer to gun slinging.

"Hell, at least I got your mom's gun right here." His wrist bucked, the rubber grip slipping into his loose grasp. "Several rounds to go with one shot down."

"One -shot- down…." She took in a shallow breath, the fumes sitting in her lungs momentarily before they heaved it out. "That could work!"

"What could?" he asked.

"Ron…." She said cagily. "You're going to have to shoot the vat."

"WHAT?" those chocolate eyes nearly popped out of his head. Heck, even she wasn't sure what the hell she was saying. "Have you LOST IT?"

"No other way, Ron." She said gravely. "I'm too worn out to shoot properly. You'll have to graze the brim of the vat to create a spark. Simple, huh?"

Ron's big eyes boggled predictably; he was speechless as his rat.

"Don't worry." She said coolly, ironically. "We'll do it -off- the catwalk, by the car."

"Kim, that's another 35 feet!" Ron exclaimed.

"Thankfully this vat is huge." She let her head down gently, eyes peering through the grating. The shifting crude sat at least twenty feet below her, churning gently to the thrum of machinery further below, the pool big and wide as the passageway. So big, so wide, so much sloshing crude that her guts began to twist. "Really huge…!"

"Really, -REALLY- huge…." Ron drew his glove down his face again. "There's no way this pistol can reach that far accurately!"

"I know." She nodded. "But every Hummer I saw had machine guns mounts. The one over yonder shouldn't be any different."

"Even if I do cause ignition," the boy protested, "we'll go up with this whole place!"

"We have to try, Ron!" she said. "I'll drive."

"Again…!" he sighed, eyes taking another lap around his head. "Are you sure you're up to it?"

"Yep." She shrugged. "Everything still's working, more or less, but at least you'll have a new toy to play with."

"Really?" he blinked. "What's that?"

Another exasperated sigh. "The turret, Ron."

The boy's eyes lit up predictably as though he had received his royalty check from Bueno Nacho all over again. At least Bonnie wasn't here to sour the moment.

"Me with an M60?" The boy grinned childishly. "Boo-yah!"

"Glad you like It." She nodded. "Let's get going"

"Not so fast, you two!" Called out a voice from beyond the catwalk, a deeper voice marred not by Semitic or Slavic intonation. It was deep, so smooth, and so soft on the ears that it ought to have belonged to a jazz playeran American jazz player at that. Ron trained the revolver down the catwalk. "I've got something to say."

"Who's there?" she called out. "Identify yourself!"

"Why me?" A taller man with snow-white hair stepped out from behind one of the vehicles. Thin pieces of metal reached out from his ears, tracing greatly around his tired eyes. A coat of white encased his tired blue scrubs loosely. Both arms where pulled around his back squarely. "I'm but a humble doctor. A poor, tired man who got dragged along for this picnic."

"A doctor, huh?" Ron thumbed the claw hammer. "Why do I have trouble believing that in this hellhole?"

"My apologies for this place being so… hectic." He sighed. "I've been monitoring your progress from the security office. You should be thankful that the grunts left it to me on their way out."

"So what?" she frowned. "You here to kill us then? Then do us a favor and spare us the psychobabble. It's really getting on my nerves!"

"Why would I do that?" he blinked those gray eyes gently. "Don't get me wrong, Ms. Possible, I am grateful for your assistance. Tank Man needed to be put down for good. I knew that even before I was given the task to "revive" him into that twisted monster you know and loathe. But I couldn't disobey the Major, not then anyway."

Her hand met the small barrel of the revolver. Ron's arm succumbed to her torque, angling the gun to the floor. She was a little edgy when the boy replaced the hammer into the frame single-handedly.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"I'm Doctor Phillip Levitt, MD of course." The man said calmly. "The Major's good doctor, and was once personal physician to his stepfather, Alexander"

She blinked.

"STEPFATHER?" Ron and she exclaimed mutually.

"While Uzi believes a little differently, you've heard me right." The doctor nodded. "I should know. I've been with the Drazen family since the beginning, since the patriarch's betrayal in the early seventies."

"What you talking 'bout, Doc?" Ron said.

"Your government had been after him since that time, but not anymore thanks to you two." The doc explained. "During his hit and run from the United States, he stumbled onto my doorstep back when I had a practice in Alaska, seriously wounded from a gun battle he and his gang had with a federal building. Going in like a suicide bomber wasn't a smart move.

"While I patched him up, he asked if I would accompany him. Being young and naïve didn't help, so desperate for the green. So here I stand before you, catering to his violent creation till he destroys us all. God, forgive me…."

The doctor put the pads of his fingers against his temples, rubbing them gently.

"If Uzi's not Drazen's son," Ron asked, "then who the hell is he? Does it have anything to do with that bizarre collection of photographs?"

"Indeed…." The doctor sighed. "I might as well tell you before I let you go.

"Before the Major's birth back in '85, three of Drazen's sons were born: Deutsche, Vasili, and Tristian." The doctor placed his arms behind his again. "Typically combined with foreign chromosomes at conception, just like with any other human on the planet, it would be safe to say that they are the real sons of Drazen. But Uzziel and Galil, they are different in such a way, a way that only 10 percent of the genes found within them are from Alexander."

"So that means…."

"Correct." The doctor nodded. "Technically, Uzi and Galil are not Drazen's biological children."

"Then who the hell is he?" Ron pressed.

"What is he…?" she asked.

"During December of '84, we were approached by the Israeli government a couple of years before the first uprising." The man continued. "They saw it coming! The Mossad saw the great potential of Drazen's children and they requested that we create one for a top secret 'initiative' of theirs. I don't think it's really hard to figure out what that is."

"The Victims of the Smiling Ass…." She said.

"What…?" Ron said incredulously.

"Counter-terrorist measures and operations by any means necessary, all disguised as a rogue militia." She said. "Fight fire with fire. A great idea on paper till your boy kept all the hand-me-downs for himself."

"It was more for deterrence's sake, but true in the long run." The doctor nodded. "With the Major's resolve coming to a head, Israel's 'Apollyon' project is a total disaster - a self-fulfilling prophecy! Brute force and the 95 percent reproduction of desired genetic material should not be the only criteria for a human being. It must also be beautiful, unique, and godlike just as when God blew into a pile of dirt, when dirt became a man. Don't you agree…?"

"Apollyon…?" she said.

"The destroyer…?" Ron followed suit.

"In late '84, Drazen, myself, and an… -eccentric- geneticist along with several influential parties initiated the development of a human child with the natural abilities of fighter, a soldier and an agent. Rage, joy, madness, nor lust: he would be a well-balanced masterpiece that the Israelis would see fit to entrust with the initiative. But we had hit a snag with the process: Drazen life of battle had left him sterile."

"No wonder he was always pissed." Ron chuckled softly.

"Ron, shut up!" she frowned.

"Yet we had nothing to worry about." Phil continued. "We could have always used surrogate seed with the old man's genetic code, but Drazen himself decided to take the opportunity to test genetic material he had acquired - through ME, of course - on loan from some spooks in BIS. In place of Drazen, I oversaw the procedure. I might as well have been his creator, and still Uzi doesn't know who I am."

"Who is the prime donor then?" she asked.

"'The Unknown', of course." He said.

"The Unknown…?" she blinked.

"You'll know soon enough." He shook his head. "I could tell you more, but we don't have the time for this. He's about to move out any minute now. If you wish to blow this place sky high, I suggest you do it now!"

"You know?" Ron said.

"Yes," the doctor said, "I was already here by the time you strolled in. I heard everything. If it's what you want, I won't stop you. But I have something better than your half-assed plan."

The doctor unfolded an arm from behind him and angled the hand behind the flap of his coat. Ron brought up the revolver instinctively, thumbing the hammer already. Then he had gently guide the claw back into the frame when Phil pulled out a block no bigger than bullion. It spun at her like the blades of a thresher when the man tossed it. In her hands only she saw a small electronic device pressed into a side.

"What's this?" Ron shot it a quizzical look.

"Let me guess," she nodded, "SEMTEX?"

"Exactly." The doctor nodded. "Also known as 'Terrorist C4': developed in Uzziel's homeland before the Velvet Divorce. Composed of RDX and PETN, it can devastate an area with at least twice the punch of TNT. Uzi had the timers waterproofed; so don't worry about getting it wet. Just be careful with it."

"How long can the timers be set?" Ron asked.

"30 minutes." The doc said. "But I don't think we have the time for that. 10-to-15 should be enough."

"Thanks." She tossed it gently to Ron, who easily slipped it into an open cargo pocket. "But, why are you helping us?"

"Guilt, I suppose." The doctor bowed his head, sighing. "To say I'm tired would be putting it lightly. All I wanted to do was help people; help them live life, help them long to see another day. But as always, bad things come out of good intentions: Communism, Totalitarianism, and Jihad. The Information Age is upon us, and yet how sad this age truly is. Famine, pestilence, wars and rumors of wars, and nation against nation; they are still among us, running rampant despite the advances in science and technology. We walked amongst the stars; the earth was blue but there was no god. Hopelessness, it is.

"This whole conflict. Israel against the world, the right to exist verse the right to return, so very important as a Jew myself, yet it feels so pointless after a time. Now, much like the Major, all I want is to see it end completely. Ragnarok isn't far behind at this rate."

"I guess so." She said. "But what are you going to do now? Give up? What good would that do anyone?"

"I know…." He shook his head. "I'm a coward. But at least I helped in my own special ways. Now you must use it before Uzziel destroys us all."

"'Ways'…?" Ron said rhetorically.

"Ask around if Drazen lets you." The doc said cryptically, beginning to turn on his heels. "Maybe Matt, for example. I don't know anymore!"

"Matt…?" She blinked.

"Just take care of demolishing this place. There's nothing else I can do. It's all up to you two: this country, this region, and the whole damn planet for that matter. Whatever happens within the next few hours will decide the course of history. If you fail, it will mean an all out nuclear exchange! Armageddon will be unleashed!"

"You're talking about the nuke!" Ron exclaimed.

"Yes," Phil said, "an enhanced radiation weapon deployed by the Israeli government for the purpose of eliminating the Major completely. A convoy under Lieutenant Bonnet captured it. I'm not a weapons scientist, but when detonated I know that organic material within ground zero and the blast radius will be exposed to lethal amounts of intense radiation - dust in an instant!"

"Shit!" Ron exclaimed. "Who'd make such an idiotic weapon?"

"Better ask your government." Phil shrugged. "They developed it, after all."

"Of course…." She sighed. "But he can't be serious about detonating it, can he?"

Phil turned on his heels completely.

"Oh yes, he is." The man said. "The Major's sick of this life, all right, sick of a life without meaning or purpose, with nothing but attempted executions from others. Since you couldn't kill him, he thinks he might as well kill everyone he can. Last I heard, your country had sent in a couple units to prevent any -certain- hassles for this afternoon's event."

"The Temple Mount!" Ron exclaimed.

"Yes, Drazen's gathering his troops to meet them." Phil said. "I told you everything that I could. You're going to have to deal with whatever surprises may come up on your own. I'm taking one of these vehicles. You can have the other. Both have machine guns so don't fret over it. But good luck to both of you; this is a dangerous one."

"Don't have to tell me twice." Ron said.

"This will be a face-off with your own mortality." Phil said. "Don't let the fear get to you. You give into the fear, the darkness comes."

"Right." She said. "And thank you."

"Of course." The doctor turned for one of the hummers. "I'm off now. I suggest you do the same!"

A door openedand closed, the vehicle jiggled on its framework when the doctor climbed inside. The started whirred and the engine caught with a loud thrum, and soon the vehicle was guided out backwards. The trunk mooned her and the machine gun gazed at her coldly before Phil put it into gear, picking up speed as it rolled away from them and up the ramp, never to be seen again.

"'I suggest you do the SAME…!'" Ron quoted mockingly as he stuffed the gun into his cargos. "We've been trying to for the past HALF-HOUR! DAMN!"

"At least he gave us a leg-up, Ron." She frowned. "And the more we bitch, the more ground we'll have to make up! Let's just plant this stick and get out of here!"

"I heard that!" the volatile block slipped out of his pocket easily. The lump that the gun made against the cloth sank deeper. The device beeped like a cheap digital watch as he fingered the buttons. "Setting the timer for 13 minutes."

"13 minutes?" she blinked.

"Yeah." The mat of dirty blond swooshed in the thick air when he bobbed his head. "On a recipe when it calls for the timer to be set between such-and-such, I typically use the middle ground. It works fairly well, I must say."

"Says the Iron Chef." She sighed. "Hit start already. Go ahead and drop it in if you have to."

"Now comes the time for the secret ingredient." Ron said lively as he fingered the start button, holding it over the vat by a pinch. "You know what that means…? BOO-YAH!"

The block splashed into the oversized saucepan like a stick of butter, drowning in the crude like a cinderblock.

"Boo-yah!" Rufus squeaked, pumping a foreleg in the air dramatically.

"Come on," she said, "let's go!"

A sudden vibration caught her off guard, a trembling from underfoot on the rusty catwalk, resonating throughout the entire room. The room tilted as she dived for the paling while her body ached to fall oppositely, seizing that greasy pipe with both of her hands. Rufus let out a shriek, as did his master, stumbling over his own feet. They both would have enjoyed a nice bath Genghis style if it weren't for that single pipe of railing.

"WHOA…!" Ron exclaimed. "Who the hell - WHAT the hell was that?"

"Could it be…?" her voice came soft, collected despite the frenzied panic racing in her brain. Tank Man? It couldn't be! She'd done it in herself, and below her ears caught a sudden slush of crude! The freak was way too small, too weak to have caused it even with that talon! "No… it can't!"

"Can't what, KP?" With a huff, Ron pushed himself back upright. "That freak?"

"It couldn't have survived!" her feet found their way back under her again after a steady push to the railing. "I made sure of that!"

"Exactly." Ron replied.

"Yep-YEP!" the rat affirmed.

"Which means…!"

"The weapon!" she exclaimed. "They're ready for launch!"

Ron threw his head back, his boyish face twisted painfully in angst.

"These missions are so not EASY!" he cried.

"Cry later, Ron!" already, despite the soreness flaring, singing inside her, she was ahead of him by 10 feet. The pain practically drained off her. She was deaf to everything around, the clanging of her hurried feet against the grating ringing in her ears. Some of the steel crumbled away beneath her, plopping into the black nastiness below but she paid it no mind. "Let's jet!"

"Right behind you, Kim!" Ron called. "Let me get past these holes first!"

"Just hop, Ron!" she called back. "Think of it like Pitfall, now move!"

That sudden vibration rumbled through the room again, rattling the catwalk an old rope bridge. Pieces of it belly flopped onto the crude below right in front of her. She was sure a piece fell right in front of her before the section slipped out of sightand she was right when the toe of her boot sank into the hole left behind, dragging the rest of her down. Her nose crammed back into her face when she planted it firmly.

"Oh…!" she moaned. A little trickle managed to fall into the dimple on her lip, pooling warmly. The tips of her fingers came back slick with red. "My nose!"

"Play it like Pitfall Harry, huh…." Ron said smugly. "Yeah right…."

"Shut it, Ron." She growled. "Help me!"

Dust was brushed out of place, crumbling from the ceiling onto the walk, coating the grating thinly in a tiny little spot while most of it fell right through. Certainly the docking bay was beyond the flanking wall, but there was no reason that the weapon could have caused that nasty rumbling, even for its size

And it certainly wouldn't have caused the ceiling to warp, concaving largely in a single spot above the walkdirectly in front of her!

"What the HELL IS THAT?" Ron squealed.

The warped patch split with another bang, ragged slivers of steel, pipe and truss blossoming like a passionflower when knuckles punched straight through. So brown, so golden brown like a Thanksgiving turkey that she knew all to well what they belonged to. Soon her head found its way back just like Ron's, she felt her features twist the same way.

"NOT THIS SHIT AGAIN!"

The ceiling took a dump on her, sprinkling her mane with oily, nasty dust while the king shit plopped out of the frayed warp

"What THE?" Ron yelped.

Tank Man, that stubborn zit had grown, -really- grown, so gross and so fat that it wouldn't take a needle to burst. Its little rolling tray was nowhere to be seen, its metal claw gone from the shoulder, bone and raw meat glistening wetly in the light. Muscle had popped out of nowhere, so fat and tense that they pushed all the veins against his strange flesh. Skin was stretched to its limits, even so far as that it was torn in some places, thick purple muscles shining through the gooey red. Blood oozed down its bulbous pecks and fattened abdominal in thick rivers.

She wanted to hurl when it looked at her. Those eyes of hazel sheen were gone, never more as would the raven squawk. Two dead orbs stared back at her, clear as a milky glass of water from a school drinking fountain. The lower lids brimmed thickly with red, trickling down those lids, those tight cheeks, disappearing drop by drop behind the sharp belly of that broken jaw-blade. Its tongue slithered out like a serpent, long and swollen like an alligatorand the trickles were cut off sharply just above the cheekbones. It hissed at her coldly, eagerly, lustfully, and hungrily….

"I SAID YOU SHOULD'VE QUIT WHILE YOU'RE AHEAD!" Ron shouted. "GREEN GOOP PAVES THE WAY FOR A HUNDRED MILES OF BAD ROAD! DO YOU GET THAT, KP? BAD ROAD!"

"OH SHUT UP!" She hopped to her feet.

"THAT ZIT'S BLOCKING THE WALK!" Ron pointed. "WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO?"

"THE HELL SHOULD I KNOW!"

Tank Man - Super -Psycho- Tank Man let out a shout, a horrible beastly shout that caused the room to quake, to tremble fearfully. It was so much for some pieces of the roof, so to speak, pieces of truss and pipe fainting to the walk below, tumbling through to the black pool below, taking some rather sizeable pieces of grating with it.

"To hell with this!" Ron shouted. "Let's hightail itNOW!"

A light shined within Tank Man's mouth, a fiery, hot light that caused even the pink saliva at the tip of that monster tongue to bubble. It reared back its headand it took in a deep haggard breath that growled like a freak.

"DOWN!" she shouted.

Strength traveled into her forearms, and with a steady push her upper body was airborne. Twisting around at the waist, her hand snatched a hold of Ron's belt… and soon the boy found his body sprawling out next to her just as a thick shaft of heat lapped at back of her olive drab. Someone was going to be mad that his stuff was scorched, but it wasn't going to be her.

The door behind them had been blown closed when she took a peek over her shoulder. That huge, indestructible blast door was but a gooey shadow of its former self, pieces of it slipping through the walk in viscous globs while the door and the frame itself had merged together… permanently.

"So much for a way out!" She cursed. "Guess there's only one way left!"

"And what PRAYTELL is THAT?" Ron yelled.

"We're giving that freak a bath!" she pushed herself to her feet. "A nice long one!"

"What are you…?" those chocolate eyes crossed.

"When you hear the signal, RUN!" her lungs pressed out the foul breath. They took in a few shallow gasps as she worked what little oxygen there was down into her legs, feeling the pain and soreness slip off.

"What SIGNAL?" he demanded.

"Here it comes…!"

"WHAT?" Ron scrambled to his feet.

Pieces of grating gave way, splashing into the vat below, as she booked it for that ugly colossus in her path. Ron barely had the time to put the first foot in front of him by the time she cleared half the distance between him and the roadblock. A hint of sanity shined faintly in those dull, dead eyes as it brought up a massive fist - just as she hastily predicted.

"Brace yourself!" she called.

The fist came down upon the walk, punching through it completely as the whole structure rattled like it were on Parkinson's Disease. She caught a leg up on the thing's pudgy fingers before a section gave way, flipping over the freak completely! Her legs hurried her the moment the thick boot soles hit the walk. A bit of relief swelled in her chest when she found herself on that hard, unwavering slab of concrete. The boy flung himself at it, planting his face on it just as the walk withdrew itself.

In an explosion of rusty, nasty metal, the catwalk gave way, tearing itself apart under Tank Man's immense weight. Clean shards and slivers cut through the air, shining together in a glinting vapor before they disappeared below the brim of the vat. The vat let out a hollow -BANG- when it was touched by the far half of the walk, tearing itself away from the oozy door only to fall to unknown depths below. The half nearby simply dived into the nasty drink like a straw

"Bye, bye…!" she waved mockingly.

And Tank Man was on its way to Hell, treating itself to a nice relaxing bath. Opening its terrible mouth, that little light inside flickering violently, it let out a final obnoxious scream before the liquid blackness swirled inside. That little flame was finally out, drowned seemingly by the blackness while its strange head was overwhelmed by it. Yet the thing defied its demise with its final ounce of strength, shooting its pudgy hand out of the crudeand it stood there! Frozen in time and coated with oil, the darkness eagerly swallowed it up again.

"Drowned in a vat of oil." She stated. "A fitting end for that little zit, don't you think?"

Ron slapped at his face with both gloves, wiping the dirt and grime off his face. His little buddy helped clean him off, swathing the crown with his tongue like a cat. Though as soon as the red was off his crown, it blossomed right back out again, trickling down his crown slowly.

"Man, that HURT!" he whined.

"Did it now?" her brow kinked.

"Try planting your face after a full sprint, then come and talk to me!" Ron growled. "Oh…!"

"Hope you don't like what you taste, Rufus." She said. "One leech was bad enough!"

"Nope-nope!" he shook his little head violently. "No leech! -Blah…! -"

"Good." She nodded.

Slowly, Ron pushed himself to his feet, hands skittering all over his body, dusting himself off. He finished with the typical sweep of his hands from his abdominal to the meat of his quadriceps, and a final dust of his gloves. His dirty blond mat waved at her swiftly when he shook his head. Rufus scampered his way back into his burrow, satisfied with a job done though his master's crown shined wetly with red still.

"You're still bleeding, you know." She said.

"Go figure." He shrugged. "I'll put a bandage on it later. We got to get out of here!"

"Heard that!" she said, and already she was on her way for the Hummer's driver's side. The door clunked open effortlessly, and she slipped right inside. Thin pieces of metal brushed against her leg, jangling. "Hop in!"

Ron didn't need to be told twice as he went for the back seats. With a twisting pinch, the vehicle fired up with a hearty thrum, her back rumbling gently with the engine block. Her door found its way back into the frame with her help, rocking the vehicle a bit just as Ron guided his door back inside. She could feel him easily shift around in the back.

"How's it look?" he asked as she put it into reverse.

"Full tank!" she said. "Oil, gas, brakes, practically everything! And you?"

She heard a loud -clack- from behind-and-above her.

"Locked and loaded!" Ron said. "We shouldn't have to worry about spray-and-pray today! We got some serious chains - even a couple rocket propelled grenades to spare!"

"Just use them wisely!" she backed out easily from the parking space, slapping it into drive when the ramp rolled just above the horizon of the hood. "Make them last! No pit stops on this road trip! Just hold onto your butt and don't get sick!"

"Where are we going anyway?" he asked.

"Away from here, and let the cavalry take over!" She feathered pressure on the accelerator. The ramp was upon them quickly, and soon she felt herself press a little deeper into the seat. "That's for sure! Any suggestions?"

"Actually, I do!" He replied. "Jerusalem, by the old city walls at a fancy apartment complex. Yune and Tara should be waiting for us there!"

"You got it!"


	38. Chapter 38

38

This was it!

Uzi felt a rush of pride surge through him as he graced the telemetry tower with his undeniable presence. The two at the control panels angled their heads over their shoulders, their shoulders jumping with a single bounce before they turned back to their duties. The unmistakable clatter clacked out from in front of them, and soon they pot-lights above shined down upon him as though God had reached down to pat him one on the back.

Of course, He would not be happy in the least when he would roll upon that sacred mountain, but it was a necessary sacrifice at the least. When that golden onion on the rock is crumbled, all will be right with the world as far as he was concerned. Who'd care if those country bumpkin "cousins" were furious? Not he certainly.

"They'll be next anyway!" he sighed. "Along with that accursed crater!"

"I'm sorry, Sir?" Eli said.

"Nothing." He shook his head. "It's nothing."

"Knowing you, I highly doubt it!" the other man said. "It's always something with you. I doubt that you had this treading behemoth built so you could brag about it. Hell - with this thing, the word deterrence is meaningless!"

"Dave, if I want an opinion, I'll ask for it." Squishy material enveloped his backside, the tanks awkwardly as he took a seat in the chair - his- chair - built with tempurpedic cushioning and heated lumbar support. He could relax easier while watched the world fall apart before him. If only he'd insisted on a vibration feature, he'd be set! "Damn, this feels good!"

"Major, you take lounging to a new level." The thin man said.

"La-Z-boy?" Dave said rhetorically. "More like Hopeless Slack-Ass, if you ask me!"

The bird at his hip beseeched him to let him free, to teach that crude man a lesson. But he refused, simply giving its butt a nice pat. There would be no one to operate the right half, after all; the king would be a hobbling hemiplegic. The enemy would point and laugh at him, taunt him before they crushed him in one fell swoop. He couldn't let that happen!

Then again, - he thought, -there is the backup system…. -

"Cute David," he frowned, "really cute…. Ass-monkey!"

"I know you are, but what am I, Sir?" Dave shot back.

Urge to kill -rising…! - "My underling! I don't need your approval! I'm in command here! If you think this is the time for games, you're sorely mistaken! We're in the middle of a war here, jackass, a terrorist war fought withgorilla andhit-and-run tactics! I don't have time to deal with upstarts like you anymore!"

"Like those two women?" Dave asked sorely.

He had half the mind to throw him through the bulletproof glass, but the chair was so damn comfy!

"And just when I thought I weeded it out…!" he griped. "You guys still feeling sore about that? Like I said before, this is war! Spies must be uprooted wherever they hide; potential threats need to be weeded out. Feelings like yours, Dave, are a menace to the unity of our organization!"

"Just like those two women?" Dave pressed. "Yeah, they were a real threat, all right. Poking fun at their commanding officer is inexcusable! You didn't have to axe them, you know!"

"It's too late for them now." he said. "They're probably at the bottom of Tank Man's stomach right now, on their way out!"

"Disgusting!"

"Speaking of Tank Man, Sir." Eli interjected. "Didn't you want that auburn girl's bones on your desk by now?"

"I don't have time for that now!" he threw up his hand. "She could be just another smear on G's fun house wall, for all I care! Solomon Rex is ready to launch, correct? Dave, what's the situation?"

The olive man's head deflated, sinking between his shoulders as he let out a sigh.

"At last report, all is well with Solomon Rex." Dave said. "Maintenance is simply topping him off with the last couple barrels of oil. Anti-missile countermeasures are in place and functional. All turrets locked and loaded with flak and bullets. The gunners are on standby, waiting for your orders to load the cannons. Coaxial linkage between the ordinance and your personal uplink is up and operational."

The uplink, that goofy looking helmet that dangled above him by a few thick cords like a pendulum. It functioned just like a helmet on his Apache, and practically looked the same too. Wherever he turned his head, so would the turrets, even the cannons would follow seconds after with a simple flick of the switch. With it, the king was practically under his complete control with him as the pilot should he wish it.

"Personal Area Network, eh…?"

"Precisely, sir." Eli said. "It works together with your own body's electrical field, using the metal imbedded in your body as the transmission medium."

"Good!" he smirked. "What about my little endgame?"

"Should be right behind you, Sir." Eli said.

He turned around; the chair was on a swivel. Something hit the floor with a thud while his peg pushed him around.

"And that should be it." The thin man said.

The chair stopped with a sharp squeal. At his feet sat an assault pack, stitched together from a woodland green print, sitting prone while it lay on its face. He scooped it up with a shallow huff, resting it atop the meat of his legs. With a gentle pinch, he carefully dragged the zipper from one side to the other.

"I wonder what's in here…." A sharp smile yanked across his face. "Could it be that atomic device I've always wanted?"

Metal, smooth and shiny metal winked at him brightly from the shade of the pack, fashioned expertly by skilled hands he had around the base. Amazing, simply amazing. From that fat chunk of metal Shia found in the Negev to this convenient, concealed SADM. It was a trump card - the final play should the going likely get tough. What a way to end it all, enemies, allies, and those in between, disintegrating into oblivion with a hell of a bang!

"This'll make a fine finale for me!" he laughed.

"Because Solomon Rex isn't enough, right?" Dave said.

"No one asked you!" he said.

"Hey!" out from somewhere nearby came a voice, a loud, boisterous voice that he could not mistake for a second. "That's no way to talk to your own men!"

And just when he thought he'd reduced that piece of junk into a smoking crater. "What the…?"

"That's right, Major Drazen." Matthew said. "The M-A-T is back, and is here to stay!"

"Who let you off your leash?" he said.

"Does it really matter, dude?" the AI replied. "Nope, sure doesn't. As long as I'm here, all will be right with this pet project of yours!"

"Pet Project?" he frowned. "I'm on the verge of providence, and you call it a 'pet project'? This isn't just a hobby, or some crazy pipe dream! This is destiny, you stupid hunk of junk - the culmination of my hard work!"

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Major." The smart ass retorted. "Call it what you want, slap it with a new coat of paint, a spade's still a spade! Just don't drive my new shell into a crowd and blow me up again!"

"I wouldn't dream of it." He said. "Who put you in here anyway?"

"I did, Sir." Eli lifted his arm from off the panel. "It was necessary."

"I'm your commanding officer, Eli." He frowned. "I'll decide what the king needs!"

"Dude, if I may interject!"

"No, you can't!"

"Thank you, Mr. U." the crass robot dismissed him altogether. Where was the plug - THE plug - when he needed it? "I think I will."

He growled.

"Did you honestly think I was created from that vehicle…?" Matt said. "That hot, foxy Sport Utility Vehicle, with the hot paintjob, and that beating American small block engine that sputters when I am near! God, she makes my throttle stick open!"

Not a lot of things caused his nerves to creep and crawl around, but this… this was something else. It was said that no matter how advanced technology would get, they could never truly digitize the human heart, could not take primal matter and turn it into gold. But somehow, in someway they were wrong; the philosophers' stone had been found, though it seemed to have a habit of turning base material into pyrite.

"Um - yuck!" Dave said aptly.

"Second…!" he nodded.

"Oh - I'm on a tangent." The AI said. "Whoops! But besides that fine piece of hardware, did you honestly think that I was created from her source code simply to haul your lazy ass around town whenever you wanted?"

"Uh…" he mockingly pondered, "yes!"

"NO!" Matt yelled. "THIS is my rightful place, your siege weapon's true form! If these two were ever incapacitated, my remote applications that I took the liberty to install would take over, so you don't have to do everything yourself."

"Why the generosity?" he asked.

"I'm no philanthropist." The machine replied. "Though the fluctuations in my programming often manifests in my prime functions, i.e. 'free will', I do only what I was created to do. In fact, this free will is a necessity for me to function efficiently, able to calculate outside the proverbial box without the hindering onset of emotion. There is nothing inside me: no hatred, no joy. These so-called feelings for the SADI; they're not even real. I'm able to think freely, to calculate through the most troublesome situation with clarity and relative perfection unlike a human counterpart."

"And what were you created for, Matt?" he folded his arms. "Enlighten me, why don't you."

"I'm more than a chauffeur, and just your military tool." The AI continued. "Our little country is under attack. We're pressured and threatened, despite the generous funds of that Spaniard and our drug money. We may have held the opposition back, but the enemy is in great abundance, at least outnumbering us ten-to-one! You maybe Uzziel Drazen, created from some of the best source material this planet has to offer, but you're still only human. Human beings can only do so much before their bodies drown in time."

Created, it knew! But how did a mere?

"Despite your triumphs and defeats, your defiance of death and all, you were still 'born' with an expiration date, Mr. U." the robot said. "Make no mistake. No human lasts forever! When you finally pass on, others will take your place. But I - I am different, superior even! I can last forever, just like everything else on the World Wide Web; never deteriorating, preserved in all its triteness.

"In a sense, Major Drazen, I was created to be the core of this organization!"

"WHAT?" the lower lid of his good eye jerked over the orb erratically.

"Is it really that hard to comprehend, Mr. U?" Matt asked rhetorically. "If a leader can trigger, control, and solve a situation, then I should be perfect for the job. Since my assessments and solutions are hindered not by emotion, I can be ready for any contingency. I'll be THE perfect replacement!"

"What do you mean?" he demanded.

"Phil told me everything, Major Drazen." The machine replied. "Your 'birth', your growth, your purpose, and your determination for the finality of today. You weren't planning to come back tonight, were you? Why else reveal yourself while the whole world watched?"

He growled.

"-Hara-kiri- on Mount Mariah, yes?" the machine pressed. "Or would -kamikaze- be more of an appropriate world? I hate to break it to you, Uzi, but Phil didn't mean for you to be shaped into the bitter man that you are today, just so you could die in the heat of battle - the so-called 'culmination'. No, you have your 'father' to thank for that. Your skills should not be used to harm the innocent, not even if they happen to be on the wrong side. No, a soldier's skills should not be used to hurt friends. I overheard once that a wicked man longs for his own demise, and my calculations cannot equate a more apt individual than you. A man longing for his own death isn't useful to anyone. That's why Phil had me created.

"The VSA lives on, Major Drazen, restored to their prime function of deterrence. Do you see, Uzi? You have corrupted the VSA to fit your own twisted bubble. A bitter man such as you is unfit to command! The government knew of this all too well when they gave you asylum after your 'father' died. You think all of this was your own doing, Drazen? Ha! Even if, your plans were practically invalidated long before your betrayal!"

"This is mutiny!" he jumped to his feet. "Who's this Phil?"

"You don't know?" Matt retorted. "That's a laugh! You think an imaginary friend yanked that bullet out of you?"

"The Doc?" he exclaimed. "Him!"

"Of course." Matt affirmed. "Under orders from the Director of Mossad, Phillip had me programmed from already existing source code. He's one of Israel's people, after all. He's been one of them since old man Drazen kicked the bucket. He knew you better than anyone else. Who better to spy than your own personal physician, am I right?"

"Where is he?" the bird at his hip didn't have the chance to squawk as he ripped it from its nest. It suckled on a fresh slug as he racked the hefty slide back, the recoil spring slipping it from out of his grasp. "I want him here - NOW!"

"Too late." Matt said. "He already left about ten minutes ago, probably on his way to inform his superiors of your location."

An overdue cuss bubbled in his craw, blowing out his mouth so loudly that the two jumped in their seats. Thick white cracks blossomed out of the same spot where one of the eagle's slugs smashed into just before.

"GODDAMN IT!" he shouted. The heavy gun bucked in his hands; another thick web grew on the glass at the sound of a thundering bang. "-DRECK! - So what the hell are you going to do now, Matt? Turn me over to the authorities?"

"No." the AI replied. "My prime function is to establish and execute control over the outfit, nothing more."

"I have no reason to believe this!" He snarled. "Any of this! Do you get me? Why are you even telling me this in the first place? If everything is for nothing, then why the hell haven't the cavalry bombed this place to Hell?"

"Like you, Mr. U, the cavalry is human too." The machine explained. "For some reason beyond my processing capabilities, the official files say that no one had bothered to ask you where you were going to establish your GHQ. Phillip couldn't report it. You did drag him here blindfolded, after all."

"But why even tell me, if you were planning to keep me in the dark?" he asked. "It would be easier on their part."

"Like Adam and Eve, you too have strayed from the path, your path." Matt said. Uzi pressed his hand against his forehead, trailing down his face in disgust. "There's always been a need to fight, to threaten to keep the enemy in check, but you've carried it too far! What's it going to be: loyal to the cause, or loyal to yourself? To the mission or your beliefs? To the purpose your- purpose - or your personal hatreds?"

He sighed.

"You don't know yet, I speculate." Matt said. "But sooner or later, you'll have to choose."

"I'm still in command here!" he said. "I will still be in command till I die! And I say that we move out at once, despite this horseshit! That is, of course, you're going to stop me!"

"No, Mr. U." Matt replied. "I told you before: I do only what I'm meant to do. You want to move out? Fine! That's what you want; you made your choice. I won't stop you. Instead, I'll gather necessary data before I consider your final exercise closed. It might prove useful in future operations, should there be any."

"Should there be any," he smirked bitterly, "indeed…!"

The king was shaken with a solid tremble and a thunderous explosion! His peg slipped, watching the floor sweep out from under him as gravity dragging him to the floor by the machine gun. The backs of the pilots slammed against the chairs, David's tossing him to the ground by the back.

Hundreds of pounds of metal clattered to the ground at the king's feet when the nearby wall tore itself apart, pieces glowing hotly like fireflies dug themselves into the window. Mechanics were ablaze, a glowing tail whipping behind them while they arced through the air like flaming arrows, shrieking piercingly before they crashed onto the ground. Great balls of fire swirled out of that flaming maw, inches beyond that thick pane, tarnishing blackly as they floated up and out of sight.

"The FUCK?" he shouted, yanking himself to his feet. He thumbed the button, that special button that made him feel so much better, that lifted the weakness from his body. With a steady hiss, the tanks emptied their contents inside him no greater than a tab. "WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?"

A button on the panel found itself deep inside at Eli's behest, a hammer fist to the panel.

"The Major would like an explanation - NOW!" the stick man's collected voice blasted out of the speakers. Men below scattered, rushing into the thick shade of the docking bay, and out of sight. Not a few seconds had passed when they piled back into the light, large red bottles in their clenched grips as they charged for that flaming cloud.

Dave put a finger to his ear. "Reports are coming in, Sir."

"And…?"

"There's been an explosion." Dave said obviously.

"No shit…!" he threw his hands up.

"The oil vat in the refinery somehow ignited, and the expanding gas must have blown out the wall." Dave continued. "Our fuel supply is practically gone!"

"DAMN IT!"

In a fit, he graced his comfy throne with a swift backhand so fast, so hard that it nearly tore the headrest completely off! The toe of his boot searched the back of the chair for its infrastructure with a sturdy roundhouse. The chair simply bobbed back at him, nodding at the rage that burned inside him like the oil next door.

"That Mick probably had a hand in it!" he growled, giving the chair a hearty punch. "I should have emptied a clip between her eyes when I had a chance - but no…! I had to get CREATIVE!"

"Not only has our fuel supply shot to hell, but that wall housed a strut," Dave said, "one of the key structural components! This place has become unstable!"

When the chair lurched back at him, he didn't bother to grace it with a simple flick. "You mean…?"

"This place could collapse at any minute!" Dave exclaimed. "And from the looks of it, the docking bay won't be the end of it! Given the vertical - slash - terraced structure of the Organ Grinder, its composition and your utter -love- for trusses, room after room, section after section will collapse in a chain reaction!"

"Perfect!" he cursed. "This is all I need…!"

"Another reason why you all need me!" Matt interjected.

"SHUT UP, MATT!" The telemetry tower shouted, all at once, so loud that the entire bay began to tremble - slightly, yet solidly, threateningly. Men below stumbled, tripping over their own feet yet they continued to fight the threatening blaze beside him.

"It's already begun!" Dave exclaimed. "Whatever you're planning to do, Major Drazen, make it quick!"

"Orders, Sir?" Eli inquired. "What should we do?"

"Hell." He sighed, placing the back of his hand against the small of his back. His spine pushed him straight when he put a little pressure to it. "A captain should go down with the ship, but not today. Issue the order: all personnel evacuate the Organ Grinder at once!"

"What about your brother?" Eli asked.

"G might as well be dead." He said gravely. "If the men stumble onto him, that's great. Help him out, but it's every man for himself."

"And us?" Dave pressed.

"Open the gate!" he felt his knuckles pop when he clenched his fist. "All units move out! We're going after the Temple Mount!"

"Sir," Eli said, "I tried that. The gate won't open! The explosion must have broken the gearbox or something!"

"Despite this setback, I'm on the verge of victory!" he replied. "Life on this mud-ball is about to get interesting! No turning back now! I order you to get that gate open!"

"Did you listen to a damn thing he said?" Matt interjected. "We're stuck here! The gearbox's trashed! The gate won't open, Major! Do you get that? The gate WON'T OPEN!"

Dave gazed at him quizzically while Eli simply turned back for the panel. His rump met the battered chair again, the foam engulfing him awkwardly as it tried to consume the tanks. A simple wave of the hand, sheer dismissal reminded the two men what they already knew, what they needed to do. Dave let out a sigh, a gentle shake of the head before he turned for his panel.

"We'll see about that!"

The small field of craggy rocks took up a little less than a quarter of the rear view mirror, glowing like a campfire, nearly blinding Kim as she stole a glance at it. The SEMTEX had lived up to the hype, spending its last moments telling the time, announcing its and Drazen's end with a spectacular fanfare. First she wasn't sure if Ron had set the timer right, but a bright, burning ball that bloomed over the ancient mine showed her otherwise. The ball grew fat; a tall bright shaft of fire tore it apart, reaching for the stars above in a thunderous outburst! The Hummer rattled around her; the blast was so strong!

She eased her boot on the brake, and the large vehicle gently rolled to a stop. She took the liberty to fasten the top couple of buttons of her jacket while she collected her thoughts.

"We did it…!" she took in a breath of fresh, clean air, letting it swell in her chest. "No more torture, no more pain, and no more Tank Man - ever AGAIN!"

"So how do you really feel, KP?" Ron asked cynically.

"Man…." She put a hand to her shoulder, feeling the skin rise between her fingers as she gave it a gentle squeeze. "The adrenaline's thinning out. Man - I feel like someone shoved me under a lawn tractor!"

"No kidding…." Ron sighed. "At least it's over. So, what do you want to do? Enjoy the campfire some more? If I'd brought some graham crackers, marshmallows, and some Hershey's, we could've made sandwiches!"

"Food on your mind?" she turned her head, peering past the basic headrest. Ron's knees buckled, easing the rest of him down into the vehicle. The baggy legs crossed at the ankles, resting him into a tailor's position, hands resting on his kneecaps. "I don't blame you. I haven't eaten in a long time!"

"We got many a MRE in the back here." Ron said. "Want some?"

"How about some real food, Ron?" she asked. "Even one of these falafels sounds good! But we can't leave just yet. The IDF hasn't arrived. Let's wait for them before we jet, OK?"

"Whatever you say, KP." He shrugged. "You're the driver, after all."

"Damn straight!" she smiled weakly while she nursed her shoulder. The kneading did little to quench it. Something didn't feel right as her fingers rubbed it over. The whole limb seemed to dangle just a bit lower than it used to, bone grinding against bone, the sinews like taffy, stretched to their definite limit. "-Oh…! - Man, this sucks!"

"Still hurts?" Ron asked.

"Yeah…." She grunted. "Should have taken the extra time to find some painkillers!"

"Are you sure you don't want me to take over, KP?" Ron asked.

"Yeah, I'm sure." She nodded gently. "Driving is a simple task, especially in the desert. It's nothing strenuous, no babysitting the other bad drivers, just nice and relaxing. Which is why you can't do it, Ron! You little weasel!"

"Like I actually scheme to get the easiest job." Ron moaned. "Yeah right, who's always playing distraction in this dyad? You know how hard a job that can be, especially with people like Shego and Monkey Fist? I can tell you KP, that it's not a cakewalk!"

"I believe that." She nodded. "But I need time to recuperate."

"Understandable."

A moment of silence blossomed between them. Metal was rattling, paper was crumpling in the back as the blond rummaged around for something. Paper crumpled again, parting from each other; a thin hiss blew behind her. A hint of meat floated into her nose; her belly growled back, a warm, succulent, juicy smell that made her salivate like one of Pavlov's dogs.

"That smells good." She leaned back into the seat. "What is it?"

"An MRE, like I said before!" Ron replied. "There's a whole box of them in here. This one's Teriyaki Beef, so the label says."

"Fork some over for me, pretty please?" she asked.

"I thought you wanted some real food, KP." Ron smugly said. "This is so chuck-full of preservatives, they'll last for over a decade! Not something you'd want to consume, I assume! Hey - a rhyme! Double points for me!"

"BOO-YAH!" the rodent squeaked.

"Anything else they got?" she asked.

"Just some hot sauce, vegetable crackers, and some tea bags." He said. "Take your pick. I don't really care since I already called the main course!"

"Hog!" she frowned. "Just fork over the crackers!"

Paper crumpled again, sharply and swiftly; tumbling off her crown, belly flopping into her lap. Her fingers pinched the edge of the wrapper, saving the before they slipped between her legs. Vegetable Crackers gazed at her with thick green letters on brown, butcher paper wrapping. It was on her legs not long after, scrunched into a small paper ball. She scooped it into her palm, returning the blond the favor when she pitched it behind her blindly.

"Hey!" Ron exclaimed.

"Is for horses." She took a bite into her mouth, crumbs littering her pants when they fell from her lips.

"You like being a bother, don't you?" Ron asked.

"Kind of." She shrugged weakly. "Role reversal is fun, isn't it?"

"Huh?"

"Oh - nothing!" she smirked.

Ron was a lousy conversationalist, much as every other man on the globe. Men were all the same no matter where she went, how far across the globe her missions took her. Despite different countries, different cultures, different ways of thinking, there was an evident trait that they shared, that transcended borders, cultures, and thought like a natural Cardinal Virtue.

"Speak, Ron." She said.

Ronald barked like he was back at the dog show.

A sigh. "Funny, Ron. Not!"

"You set that one up, KP." Ron replied simply. "And when you set it up, I just have to hit it out of the park."

"Via - your head!" Rufus squeaked.

"Come on, Ron." She sighed. "Be serious. Talk to me."

"About what?" he asked.

"Anything." She put her hand back to her shoulder. "Something to take my mind of the pain."

"Well," Ron said, "there's something I've wanted to ask you for a month now. Something serious, for a change."

"What's that?" she put a kink in her brow.

"What do you think about me, KP?" he asked. "Seriously now, what do you really think?"

"What?" she blinked.

"Seriously…!" he pressed.

"Ron, you're my best friend."

"And -no-," he interrupted, "you can't use that age old cop-out!"

"Wellwhat do you want to hear, Ron?" she sighed. "Something that you'll like, that you want to hear?"

"No, KP…!" He sighed back. "What do you take me for? Man - I'm not that shallow!"

"Then what do you want?" she asked.

"Kimberly, sometimes I feel that you take me for granted." Ron said. "Like one of your kid brothers that'll always be there, whether you like it or not. But I'm not, KP! I'm more than that, just like you are! I know you always been there for me, Kim, when I got myself in too deep to claw back out. I had no siblings of my own, and you were like the big sister I never had. But don't get me wrong - I'm thankful for it."

"Yeah," she chuckled softly, guiding a loose lock behind her ear, "I guess I kind of was…."

"You kind of still are, KP." He said. "In the Jewish culture and religion, a boy becomes a man at the age of 13. By then he begins to see the world differently than his parents, he begins to have thoughts of his own. When he makes a mistake, he's expected more-or-less to pick up the pieces. But when we're on a mission, when I screw up, you don't seem to let me clean up."

"Ron…?" it came out in a long drawl, thick with suspicion. "What are you…?"

"You protect me a little too much, Kim." He said calmly. "I'm not a helpless kid anymore. I have to grow up now, Kimberly. I believe it's time for me to truly start living up to the man that you want in a partner! I can't be a kid forever. No - I won't be a kid forever. I won't let you treat me like a kid anymore, KP."

"Ron…?" she said

She gasped. Her heart jump, tingle warmly inside her chest while her belly tickled as though it were teaming with creatures with beautifully painted wings. She had hardly felt this way before, even during her blind infatuation with Josh. Truly this was different, bubbling up inside her hotly like a geyser when the blond laid down those words.

"I love you too damn much!"

She was wrong, remembering it clearly. This feeling wasn't new, not at all. She had felt it a while ago, when she was stuck on a hospital bed in a facility that supposedly didn't exist….

When their lips touched that time….

"Oh Ron…." She slumped in the seat.

"What KP?" Ron asked.

"You know what, Ronald? She laced her fingers together, resting them on her lap. "You're… right. You're not a little kid anymore. Deep down, I guess I knew that to begin with, but I didn't want to recognize it. I was scared."

"Of what, KP?" he asked. "You're Kimberly Possible. You can do anything; fear nothing, and get the job done perfectly."

"I know." She nodded gently. Her eyes were wetter when she blinked, feeling the water brim at her lids. "But these feelings I had since I was old enough to have them, I thought it was just my imagination, that they weren't real. For years now, I shoved them aside, stuffing them into a tiny box in my mind. You were just my best friend, nothing more. Best friends shouldn't have feelings for each other, so our culture says - 'The Rules', as you'd say."

"But Kim." Ron said. "You said it yourself. There are no rules…."

"I know." She sniffed. "Coming here with you, being captured has made me realize that. A sad as it sounds, torture really is the ultimate form of expression; it's so raw and unbridled where the real feelings are free to blossom despite who's around. You can let yourself go. Tank Man and stick man, scarred man and Drazen himself: they thought they were hurting me. No, in fact they helped me discover myself again!"

"That sounds pretty grim, Kim."

"Remember, Ron, when I wasn't myself?" she asked. "When my emotions were out of control, all over the place thanks to a little microchip? Though I had little control over my brain chemistry, it wasn't like I was unconscious the entire time. Being helplessly in love with you, I have to say, was probably the best thing that ever happened to me. Though I was under a form of control, I was free! And that deep kiss we shared, it drove it home for me. To think it started with a kiss on the hospital bed.

"I know I said I wasn't sure at the time, but I was afraid." She put a hand to her chest, feeling the only organ that mattered pulse quickly, rhythmically like bebop. "Afraid if it was all in my head. Years of convincing myself it was, it rubbed off on me. But I know now, I know this is I and not just a crazy feeling. I can safely say who's meant to be my mate. We've been through so much together already, and we haven't gone our separate ways! Who cares what some stupid Animalogy book says? You maybe a Pink Sloth, but you know what the difference is?"

"What's that?" he asked.

"You're my Pink Sloth!" she smiled brightly, and the pain stopped chewing at her, content with its meal, simply melting off her like butter. "And I can be your Blue Fox, but only if you want."

"Kimberly…." Ron said quietly. Suddenly she felt a limb snake onto her shoulder, slithering south, and she felt those fingers lace with hers. She squeezed them firmly, tenderly, bringing the back of his hand to her lips, pressing her lips into it. "Do you have any idea how I feel?"

"Tell me." She grinned. "Mr. Man."

"I feel… content!" he replied honestly. "For possibly for the first time ever, I feel content, that all's right with the world."

"Till the next Fortress game comes out?" she sniggered.

"Seriously, Kim." He said. "I've dreamed for this day, so much that I was beginning to forget if it was a dream or not! Is this real…?"

"It is real, Ronald R. Stoppable." She took her hand back, wrapping her fingers around the steering wheel, wringing it. "As much as I'd like to bask in this feeling, I can't. We still got one last job to do."

"Drazen…." Ron said.

"Yeah." She furrowed her brow. "If by a crazy fluke he survived, we've got to take him down!"

"I don't think that's going to be much of a problem, KP." Ron said. "Look ahead of you!"

Darkness blanketed the windshield thickly, backlit by the blazing fire pit behind them. But out in the distance, way out to just where her eyes could see no more were several dots, brighter than the lapping flames, whiter than snow, staring back at her in pairs. They grew gradually; lighter shades of darkness came out of the night right behind each glowing pair, and stout and wide with four feet just like her vehicle!

"The IDF!" Ron exclaimed. "They're here! They're finally HERE!"

"Yes!" she felt her knuckles pop, clenching her fist in jubilation. It was over, finally…! "Right on time! Don't worry about their numbers, Ron. They're just scouts, setting up a perimeter at most!"

"Right, KP!"

The earth moved swiftly, erratically like an earthquake. The vehicle quaked, bouncing on the ground as her butt in the seat. Ron tumbled to the floor in a heap. The lights ahead swerved, their feet shifting back and forth while their human pilots overcorrected. But it wasn't an earthquake, stronger not than a tremor.

Ron's shaggy silhouette slid into the rearview mirror. "What the hell was that?"

"How should I know?"

The vehicle rocked on its tires again, her butt jumping off the seat while her head touched the roof roughly. Ron slipped out of rearview - only to jump in again at another rumble. Her head touched the roof again. Rufus giggled hysterically, the blackened blob in the mirror enjoying his time in zero gravity before he slipped out of sight.

"Ha!" he chuckled. "Again! AGAIN!"

"What's the hell's going on?" Ron demanded. "Earthquake?"

"In Israel?" she blinked. "No! That can't be! Can it!"

The fire pit in her rearview seemed to grow, swelling like an overripe pimple with every surge, coming to a feverish head. The flames danced on it, swaying with the cool breeze, reaching just a little closer to the sky while their stage threatened to take them there in a fireball.

"What the hell!"

KA-BOOOOOOMMM! -

Hell indeed when that fire pit erupted in a bright, flaming cloud, swallowed by the earth before it went nuclear, blossoming tall in the sky. Rocks sparkled in the mirror like stars, hailing down upon desert in a meteor shower, their flaming tails lashing out at the cold ground. The Devil had arrived! The king of the underworld peered over the brim of the hell-gate; long horns three that bounced on his crystal crown while his black, rubbery hooves carried him out.

Beyond the thick looking glass, the devil himself bellowed out to her from his throne, enveloped in a dark shroud blackened with sin and blood of innocents past.

"-KIMBERLY! -" Satan called for her. "-IT'S NOT OVER YET! -"


	39. Chapter 39

39

"Solomon Rex is clear of the gate." Eli said, keeping his stone eyes on the panel. "Reports show little or no damage. We're beginning our approach to the target."

"Good." He nodded. "Have the turrets manned ASAP. I want the artillery locked and loaded immediately!"

"Sir…?" Dave said.

"This is a siege weapon, isn't it?" he asked back. "It's here to siege, and I want to lay siege on something. But not yet, since I want to give Mr. -Putz- a hell of a surprise when the big dance number ensues! Though I'm not about to be caught with my pants down when the need for some serious firepower arises!"

"Not that you have much to look at, Sir." Dave mused smugly.

"WHAT?" he growled.

"Nothing." The olive man shrugged. "I didn't say anything. You must have been hearing things."

"Just as I thought." He shot a dagger at the man, through his thick skull and into his brain, giving the blade a sharp twist to the cerebellum. "Let's keep it that way!"

"As you wish, Major Drazen." Dave lifted up his hands, sniggering a bit to himself. Eli blew out a ragged snort, as though a chuckle - a -laugh- got caught in his palate.

"Damn straight!" he nodded… till his lids parted wide as realization smacked him one in the face. "Hey - wait a minute!"

"Major." Eli said. "Bogey at 12 o'clock."

How fortunate, a smile pulled at his lips when he gazed out the broad window. That bitch, the bane of his existence sat before the king predictably, hidden away by the roof of the hummer… the same hummer he saw parked precariously over the huge vat of oil! How dare she; it was bad enough she trashed six of them already, her seventh on its way to the big parking lot in the sky at any time she chose! She'll pay for it dearly, she would. He'd make it so as he ripped the collateral out of her ass!

A boy gazed up at him, at the king with wide-open eyes, dark eyes that drank in the sheer grandiose that was Solomon Rex, practically choking on it. His big mouth wide open; the messy mat of dirty blonde capping his head waved at him shyly like a child.

That hair, that big mouth, those eyes… he'd seen them before, slick with water, brimming with it, the sheer terror glistening off of them as he - for a single moment - held the boy's life, his destiny in the palm of his hand. He'd managed to cram it between his palm and the Ingram while the other had him by the collar. The boy was all his, free to do with him as 'Dad' would have seen fit - till that bitch shot her two cents through him like a grapple hook to the neck!

"Of course…!" he frowned.

"Sir…?" Eli said.

"Bogey is hostile." He smirked. "Neutralize with extreme prejudice!"

"Sir!" Eli called back.

A dial twisted at the stick man's hand, spinning 180 degrees before a thin digit depressed a button on the panel.

"Solomon Rex is going hot." Eli spoke collectedly into the gooseneck. "All crew members report to your stations!"

"Turret one:" a nameless, faceless man crackled back, "going hot!"

"Turret two:" another one replied through the snow, "going hot!"

"Turret three:" crackling out, came another, "going hot!"

"Turret four:" came the final, "going hot!"

"Copy that." Eli replied. "Arm main cannons!"

"Cannons 1 through 3 are armed and ready." Replied a different member.

"Copy!" Eli nodded. "Tango at 12 o'clock low. Terminate with extreme prejudice!"

"Rodger!" replied the man from turret one.

Eli spun the jog-wheel again, turning it a quarter of turn this time around before that button found itself stuck in the panel again.

"All units move out!" the stick man practically swallowed the microphone. "Do you copy? This is a direct order from Major Drazen! Move out at once!"

"Copy that." Crackled out the strong, deep voice of the men's CO. "All units are on their way."

Little Kimmie would finally be put in her proper place, to nature, left to waste away in all its indifference in a shallow grave. The boy right behind her, digging that grave for the both of them with the eagle pecking coldly at the back of his head before it coughed up a slug. Kimberly and that boy, embracing each other limply, comforting each other silently, lain down together for the last time before the dirty maw swallowed them whole. Yes, it'll make for a touching display!

This was too good! He relished in it as he fingered a button of his own, on the armrest of his chair.

"KIMBERLY!" he called out to them. "IT'S NOT OVER YET!"

XXX

"Oh… crap!" Rufus squeaked. Kim couldn't have said it better herself!

"The weapon's launched!" Ron exclaimed, scrambling to his feet while poking his head out through the hole in the roof. "We failed!"

"Not good!" she said aptly—!

The weapon picked up where the Devil left off, its two turrets lighting up brilliantly in the night. The flames were so bright, so large that they practically consumed the turrets in thick layers of burning gas. Dirt leapt up in surprise, in thin fountains that shot out of the ground swiftly, intermittently, sweeping past the vehicle in thin wisps of brown.

"I know it's not good!" Ron agreed. "NOW WILL YOU PUNCH IT PLEASE?"

"Going!"

Her boot found its way down, taking the accelerator with it, pining it to the firewall. Streamers of earth shot their way out from under the tires in the rearview, the back of the car sank a couple inches before the tires found traction again, hauling them away. The weapon shrank when she stole a glance, before its own fire overwhelmed the turrets again.

"Please tell me that thing's slow!" Ron whined.

"Fine!" she said. "That thing's slow! Doesn't mean I'm right!"

"Whatever you say, Kim!" he called.

"Just leave him to the IDF!" she yelled back. "They'll take care of it!"

"WHAT?"

"You heard me!" she furrowed her brow.

"Leave them to that monster?" Ron shouted. "HAVE YOU LOST IT?"

"Who dares, wins!" she quipped.

"The HELL?"

"I don't like it myself, Stoppable." She clenched the wheel firmly. "But there's nothing else we can do!"

"Not that, Kim!" Ron called back. "Look!"

XXX

The king had fun with the toy cars at his feet, stomping on them, crushing them like little tin cans. The little toy people scattered like ants, running, screaming from the twisted wreckage below. The king couldn't crush them all, Uzi noted. Solomon Rex possessed the agility of a pregnant cow with the flexibility of a Honolulu Kyle doll. No, the king would have to let them go for now, though Drazen was sure that Rex's servants could pick them off one by one like ducks in a shooting gallery.

One toy car evaded its demise, kicking up dirty streamers right at him as it made like a bat out of hell, speeding away quickly. Damn that bitch could burn gasoline, yet her tank could only hold so much, relieving itself even as he gazed - straight into the hot engine block. Faint wisps of exhaust dissolved completely by the upturned dirt.

"Run!" he laughed. "Enjoy it all you can! You wont be getting away this time! Full speed, gentleman!"

"Yes sir!" Eli replied, fingers tapping atop the array of buttons just before he pushed that lever all the way out—!

The seat chewed on a little more of his tanks, his back even as the desert smeared past his view. Eli's fingers flexed, clenching the panel as he struggled to keep himself square with the panel. Dave enjoyed the ride a little too much, letting the chair carry him past his own chair. A bang rang out behind him; "OOMPH!" coughed out of the man's chest as his back met the wall.

"DAVE!" he shouted, watching as the king caught up with that elusive, toying car. Solomon was practically nipping at its rear differential. Still that bitch showed no interest! The blond put on more of a show. Entertaining it was, watching him cower behind the machine gun mount as the king's gunners easily trained theirs upon him.

"Quit fucking around!" he snarled.

XXX

"Quit fooling around!"

Kim snarled, the words bitter in her mouth it seemed. She didn't bother to look back, planting her eyes so firmly on the road they would have sprouted up come spring! Her fingers strangling the wheel, her knuckles drained of color, and her arms so tensed that Ron could cut them easily with a butter knife.

"You have a M60, for crying out loud!" she yelled. "Use it!"

"Didn't do the scouts much good!" Wind sliced through his messy hair, flailing, flapping in the cold breeze like a threadbare flag. "They were road kill in an instant!"

Their hummers were trashed, a thin mangled box that became a tomb. Those poor men, soldiers just doing their job till that devil behind the bulletproof glass crushed them, stomped them beyond the earth and into Hell where the Major's minions eagerly welcomed them, arms open in an embrace of an iron maiden. The minions even followed that devil out of Hell, into the world in a large convoy that picked off the rest of those men like shooting buffalo on a train, leaving them to feed on a thick, suffocating cloud of dust.

"Tragic, yes!" Kim called back. "But even more will be taking a dirt nap if we don't stop him now! Ron, man that machine gun! Dust them off my ass!"

"But!" he batted his eyes hysterically. "Those assholes are shooting!"

"Well," she gripped the wheel tighter, "SHOOT BACK!"

"Shit!" he threw up his hands. "Easy for you to say!"

He shot out of the roof—

— "Oh DAMN!"

The wind slammed into his back, slipping up his spine, cutting through his hair so hard that his gut pushed against the brim of the manhole. It bit him, driving its slick, ragged icicles into the meat of his back with the power of a rabid dog. The pistol grip of the LMG was slick in his glove, his shoes squelched piercingly as he pushed them squarely apart. The cold, the pain, he pushed them out of his mind as his free hand capped the spine of the stock, pressing the bottom of his cheekbone against the knuckles.

Through the sight system, he eyed that little devil sitting proudly, pompously in the chair as though he thought himself to be on David's throne. Drazen would be sitting on a throne alright, stretching himself around the brim of a porcelain bowl when Satan needed to unload…. Ron mused when his finger took up the trigger slack.

"Eat this…!" he said softly, yanking that trigger back.

RAT-TATAT-TAT—! -

The barrel jerked itself around the target, the stock pounded into his shoulder, a noxious, burning fog blew into his face as thick white dots clouded the pane, slapping on like the chain was loaded with paintballs. Coating the glass with a sparkling, crackling lacquer, he took his finger off the trigger.

Drazen wasn't content with keeping to himself. He had to share his frustrations with everyone over the megaphones.

"DAMN!"

"He's not dead, but he's flying blind, KP!" Ron grinned childishly. Rufus jerked around giddily in his pocket, nearly circling the waist of his pants by his ankles.

"Good job!" she called back.

The gunners frowned at his action, letting their heavy machine guns do all the talking for them, letting them lambaste him in a raging fury of lead. Wind seemed to rip at his hair the opposite way when rather large objects passed him by, and rather hotly he may add! He returned the favor, spraying the turrets with those sparkling, crackling paintballs. This time around, they seemed to have eaten away decent sized holes in the turrets' glass - the crimson splotched glass. The gunners simply shot at him no more.

They just sat there, slouching while patches of red blossomed on their bodies.

"Front turrets disabled." He said.

"Keep it up!" she called.

XXX

"Turrets one and two, not responding." Dave said with a few fingers to his earpiece.

"Sir!" Eli yelled. "That machine gun completely destroyed our field of view!"

Amazing really, how the good second lieutenant clenched the obvious so firmly.

"Yes." Dave sighed. "I think he can see that."

"So they think they got us beat?" he chuckled smugly, pushing himself carefully to his feet. His only hand reached up, for the roof - and his ears caught the sound of something jangling up above. Somehow he caused his fingers to close. The roof clanged softly, something whirred from above, and down came that goofy helmet that he was certain someone stole from his 'copter. "Think again!"

"Major?" Eli somehow had the muscle to turn that wooden face over his bony shoulder, dark knots gazing at him scrupulously.

"Yes." He grinned back, thumb rubbing over the rough plastic gingerly. "I think it's time to give this little gizmo a try!"

XXX

"The F—!"

Ron ducked back through the manhole when those dead turrets rose again, staring at him blankly - hotly as fire shot out of those dead, rifled eyes. Earth found itself airborne once more right beyond the windows, chunks spinning, twirling on their way out of the thick, dirty geysers erupting mere inches away outside! One gushed up so close that he felt the car shift beneath while Kim overcorrected.

"Damn!" she hissed. "I told you to hold them off!"

"I don't know what happened!" he shouted back. "The guns shot at me on by themselves! It's a frigging ghost turret I tell you! GHOST TURRETS!"

"Highly doubt they're possessed, Ron!" Kim jerked her arms suddenly to the right. The floor met his side harshly, practically knocking the wind right out of him. "Whoa…! Damn rocks!"

"Whoa - yeah!" he snapped. "A ghost turret, I'm telling you!"

"We're a little short of an exorcist, Ronald!" she snapped back.

"And I'm a little short of a ROCKET LAUNCHER!" he yelled.

"So FLIPPING DEAL WITH IT!"

"No way we can!" he shook his head furiously. "I can't! I won't!"

"You can deal with it, Ron!" more than half of her emerald eyes vanished, hidden away by her furrowed brow. "You can and you will deal with it! We can because we have no other choice! Do you see any other way out of this?"

"No!" he shook his head again. "And it's not for a lack of trying!"

"Just as I thought." she said. "Now get up there and push them back!"

"Fine!" he pushed himself back up, knuckles parked squarely on his hips. "I will! Just as soon they stop shooting!"

A growl came from the driver's seat. "Grow up now - RON…!"

Of course…!

"Growing—!" he sighed. He didn't need to be told twice. The simplest thought came down upon him, burdening him like an anvil as he shot through the manhole again. Haunting him, it did, and he had a strong feeling it would trouble him a long time from now, should ever that time even come.

Why'd I have to open my big trap…? -

XXX

Ariel couldn't believe her eyes. It was real; the intelligence was correct! The reputed weapon, the culmination of all the pirating the VSA had done, stared right back at her in the face - a bright stare! The fluorescents above reflected off the still photograph with mirror sheen, painting her view a piercing white while she gazed upon it on the table.

With the big event hours away, it was going to be one hell of a day!

"Lord, help us all…!" she sighed, grinding her palm into the profile of her face, feeling the fingers rear up, the knuckles recoiling as she massaged her eyes. "Please!"

"Ms. Hershel!" Tuvia called over the rattling of the knob, the piercing squeal of the door while he hurried inside. "Ms. Hershel!"

"Yes!" she moaned, letting gravity yank her hand off her face. "I'm right here! What is it?"

"Have you heard the chatter?" Tuvia asked excitedly. "The VSA! They're moving out - the whole damn lot of them! And if you hadn't surmised yet—!"

"If you mean that they launched their weapon," she finished, "the reputed siege weapon capable of launching its payload from anywhere, at any time, on any kind of terrain - then yeah, I kind of did. I've read the report and seen the satellite imagery a few minutes ago. Bin-Mok called it right."

"But when did you…?"

"I'd say around the time you were having that falafel." She said. "I wanted to show you myself, but it looked like you had your hands full, and then some."

Tuvia's cheeks went flush with color, the red tone deepening richly.

"Oh…." He batted his dark eyes.

"Forget it." She sighed. "We have more important things at hand besides your messy eating habits."

"Right." He nodded quickly.

"What's the word on Gladius?" she asked. "Are we in?"

"S&T cracked their way into its main control circuits." Tuvia said. "At last report, it was said that the weapon was armed with one remaining nuclear payload. Others had been removed, as per the Security Council's resolution around the whole mess. Glad we got to it before their final space walk took place, or we'd be up a creek by now!"

"Heard that!" she nodded.

"Don't get excited just yet." The man replied.

"Can't wait to hear this!"

"S&T may have gotten inside, but given the situation they practically smashed their way through the firewalls!"

Her feet swept under her as she leant closer in her chair.

"Traces?" she exclaimed.

"Yeah, there were." He nodded. "Any other time, they'd be way too good for that."

"-Dreck! -" She cursed. "They want Drazen so bad they'll invade, and they act so -surprised- when we take the first step!"

"Exactly!" Tuvia continued hurriedly. "The Pentagon's throwing a fit, and their top brass is worried that we'll use it against the West Bank - or even the ceremony! Thankfully, S&T had the brains to lock out all other ports into the system, but it won't keep them out forever - even with our most advanced parallel-processing supercomputers! When they finally break through the cipher, they'll issue Gladius a final command."

"You mean they'll actually try to destroy it?" she pressed her back against the chair.

"Correct." He said. "Currently, the cannon's just over the eastern Black Sea bearing south-southwest. It'll be over our airspace in several hours. If they flip the kill switch over us, it'll crash somewhere around the Red Sea given its speed and probable rate of decay. Thankfully the system executes one command at a time, and the occurring lockout cannot be bypassed, so the schematics say. If we issue the order now, we wouldn't have to worry about any processing hassles Stateside."

"But if something should arise, there's no way to stop it." She thought aloud. "Hmm…."

"Which brings me to another problem." Tuvia said.

"There's more?" she asked.

"There's always more!" Tuvia shrugged. "Are you familiar of something called the 'Compton Effect'?"

"When the ghetto starts a riot against police?" a smirk pulled feebly at her lips.

Tuvia shook his head predictably, the joke going over his wavy hair like a lead balloon covered in fat people.

"Not -that- Compton, Ms. Hershel!" He sighed.

"I know what it is, thank you." She nodded. "Complete disruption of electronic equipment via EMMA pulse."

"Textbook answer." He said. "A high altitude detonation of a nuclear device can cause an electromagnetic pulse of up to 50-billion megawatts, reaching tens-of-thousands of volts per meter. Most electronic equipment will be toast in an instant! If you do issue the command, Ms. Hershel, and Drazen somehow makes it to Jerusalem, you'll practically annihilate our defense. We'll be sitting ducks!"

"Goody…!" her lips were bitter as she pulled them into a smirk. "This is just what I need."

"Yeah…." He said.

The soles of her shoes pressed firmly against the floor as she pushed herself out of the chair, her arms crossing loosely while she gazed upon that man. Those dark eyes, so boggled, so bewildered, darted around quickly for the best possible answer. No other was around, so they trained on her. Hell, she wasn't sure what to do anymore, yet somehow she knew, like it were flashing in before her eyes in a flashing neon sign—!

Tuvia's quivering gaze froze, the whites encroaching upon those two brown dots while his lids parted wide, all from two little words that came out of her mouth. There was no turning back now; time was not something she could control. Whatever happens would happen for a reason and couldn't happen any other way.

"Do it." She said.

"Is that your final answer, Ms. Hershel?" Tuvia asked.

"Hold on a minute!" She mockingly exclaimed. "Regis asked that last night!"

A sigh.

"Can I get a 50-50?" she asked.

"Very well." Those dark eyes closed. "You're the agent-in-charge, after all."

"That's right." She rolled her head. "We're out of options, and practically out of time. If we're going down, then we're going down with a bang, not a whimper! Go big or go home."

"I just hope you know what you're doing, Ms. Hershel." Tuvia lifted his hands peaceably.

"Hell," another sigh, "I'm not even sure the Lord knows what I'm doing. But maybe…."

"What?" The man inquired.

"That weapon is huge." She put a finger to her chin, rubbing it thoughtfully. "Ground-based…. By the time it left the GHQ, how fast do you think it was going?"

"Who knows for certain?" Tuvia double-spoke. "At first it looked like it was going about 60, but it seems to be slowing down. The rate of acceleration is decreasing steadily. Right now, from the latest imagery, it appears to be going 45."

"Yes, it would take a lot of diesel to drive that thing." She thought aloud. "Diesel that they haven't got."

"Ms. Hershel," Tuvia asked, "what exactly are you thinking?"

"There's only one way to Jerusalem big enough for that tanker, isn't there?"

"The Megiddo Valley?" Tuvia blinked. "Where are you going with this?"

"Tuvia," she said, "is it possible that Gladius could meet the weapon in that valley?"

"Yes, it's possible." He nodded. "But you're cutting it pretty close by doing that, don't you think?"

"The weapon can be neutralized." She replied. "If we can concentrate the defense forces at the far end of the valley, it'll force Drazen and his cronies into a bottleneck!"

"Did you see the number rolling behind that monster?" Tuvia shot back. "He's running with two corps - a damn army!"

"It may not be the best answer." She shook her head. "But it's our best chance. Who knows? Maybe Team Possible can pull another rabbit out of their bag of tricks."

"One that doesn't compromise the COA, of course!"

"Well yeah!" she said. The man flashed her his backside, legs carrying him to the door. "Hopping to it already, Tuvia?"

"Time's not on our side, Ms. Hershel." He said gravely. "None of which we can waste. With our shaky connection to Gladius, it'll probably take an hour at least to issue the command."

"Okay then." She nodded. "Carry on."

The door opened with a twist of his wrist, the stocky man veering out of its way while he slipped himself past. But before the door closed, he pushed that dark, wavy cap of his through again, a grunt squeezing out of him when the door's edge caught him in the temple. She laughed for the first time today.

"A doorstop, you're not." She chuckled.

"Thanks." He grunted. "But I forgot to ask you something."

"Yeah." The comfy cushion of her chair pressed against her bum again.

"When this whole thing is over." He said. "If we're still alive by the end of today, can I buy you a beer?"

Her eyes rolled habitually. A ladies man, he sure as heck wasn't. "I said carry on, sailor!"

Tuvia grumbled inwardly, guiding the door back into the frame. Hopeless Casanova; she snickered again.

XXX

Robin was wiping down the bar counter, swabbing the counter clean of beer, the broken glasses that it was served in, and the stubborn red smears that simply wouldn't go away. A couple little spots on the wood managed to smear across the bar-top's length with a shaky hand, dark fingers troubled, quivering into the rag their owner tried to wipe it away. The tiring work came to nothing as a few drops fell from Robin's eyes, splashing onto the crimson, almost… merging with it.

Yet that bothered Tara not as she watched the girl from the barstool, dragging the rag around the countertop. Robin seemed to focus on one place, one insignificant place that shined cleanly for over a half hour.

She doesn't care anymore. - She thought. - The world might as well have ended. -

Yune smartly kept himself at a distance, tending to the mess he left at the far side of the barroom.

She already had finished her chore of tending to the others' wounds, and thankfully they and that giant were still out of it, mumbling incoherently like a pack of drunks on a long night out. There was nothing left for her to do, except play Little-Miss-Bouncer when the time came along. Thanks Yune, for that! Not!

"What is wrong, friend?" Robin said absently, never leaving that shiny spot on the bar-top.

Friend…. After the past couple of hours, and she still called her friend. She was speechless.

"Nothing's wrong, Robin." She replied softly. "With me, anyway."

"Huh?" the dark girl finally managed to pull herself away, eyes sparkling with every blink.

"Robin," she said, "you've been cleaning that spot for a half hour now. Your fingers are seriously pruned. If you keep that up, there'll be nothing left!"

"Do not worry about me, Tara." Robin shook her head. "It is these stupid smears! Not matter how hard I try, no matter which product I use, it simply will not come off."

"I have a feeling that it might have gone deeper than the surface." She pondered aloud. "On the outside, everything may look fine, squeaky clean. But it might be still there, peeking at you through the surface. Still you try to clean it, or slap a fresh coat of stain on it, but every now and then you can see it stare right back at you - mocking you even.

"And when you can't get it out, you kick yourself for spilling it in the first place."

Robin's brow became a cross between a furrow and a kink. Suspicion dried her eyes, beaming it across the bar-top directly.

"What is it that you are trying to say?" Robin said guardedly.

"I won't patronize you, Robin." She said. "I have no clue how you are feeling, and I bet you can't even put it in words, even if you try. It's like the whole world's left you behind, am I right? Am I even getting close? Feel free to stop me if I'm wrong."

"No." Robin shook her head. "You are pretty much correct."

"Is that how you feel?" she brushed her fingers through her hair.

"Pretty much so." The dark girl nodded swiftly, violently. "I just want to jump into my car, and drive straight off a cliff!"

"Yeah…." She sighed sympathetically. "I'd do the same thing if Yune…."

"Please!" Robin winced. "Do not even say it!"

"It's good that you're opening up." She smiled warmly. "You were starting to worry me, that you'll do something - I don't know - off the cuff."

"Off the what?" the girl blinked.

"Nothing." She dismissed. "Never mind."

"I have really got to 'brush up' on this device called 'slang'." Robin noted.

"Robin?" she inquired. "-Were- you going to do something crazy?"

"Oh - I do not know, Tara." The girl drew in a deep breath. "I feel like a mess. Part of me wants to let it go - while the other half of me want to squeeze Yune's head like a grape! A nice, plump grape that will ooze thickly between my fingers!"

There was a clatter from the other side of the barroom. Yune draped over a fallen chair when she took a look.

"But does it ever make me feel so guilty." Robin said.

Tara let her own fingers run up her leg, underneath the hem of her skirt, dragging it up till her fingers touched metal. Hard steel, it was, flanked by two pieces of thick, spongy plastic. It slipped easily enough out of the holster, and that ratcheting clatter caught Robin's attention. Those dark circles shrank in a growing bed of white when she brought it up and onto the bar-top.

Robin was boggled. "What is that?"

"Why this?" she gave it a 180-spin. "This shares the same name as the city whose walls came tumbling down."

"Why have you brought that here?" the girl demanded. "You said that you were not armed!"

"I lied." She shrugged. "If I told you, I'd be the one wrapped in a white sheet tonight."

"But—!"

"I want to see for myself how you're -really- feeling." She said. "And I think I've implemented a perfect gauge, if I do say so myself. So what's it going to be, Robin?"

"I have already told you—!"

"Nope!" she put up her hand. "Actions speak louder than words. I don't want you to tell me, Robin."

"Then what do you want—?"

Robin got her answer when she reached over, taking her by the hand, and putting the very 'gauge' into her hand, wrapping those dark digits around the foamy grip.

"I want you to -show- me, Robin." She said. "Show me how you really feel."

The dark fingers clenched the grip, so tightly that the tool itself trembled in her grasp. The brow furrowed gravely, those dark eyes darkened in its shade. Robin accepted her challenge, and Robin was going to prove it. The girl brought up the tool level with her shoulder—

—Yune gulped quite audibly—

—And what happened next came as no surprise.


	40. Chapter 40

40

Though Tara wasn't surprised in the least by Robin's answer, she was however taken slightly aback when the girl turned the gun on her! Rage was within those eyes, she could practically see the flames break, lapping at the top of the muddy irises. The dark index pulled away from her behind the trigger guard - a -click-!

Yune breathed out a little easier.

The pistol slammed against the bar-top by an angry hand, scraping against the grain as Robin shoved it back to her.

"How dare you!" The corners of Robin's lips dropped dramatically into a frown. "I am not one of the VSA! I am not the Major! Who do you take me for, Tara?"

A smirk.

"What are you smiling about?" the girl demanded. "This is no laughing matter! How dare you compare me to those lunatics and their heretical fervor!"

"You do not truly know someone until you fight them." She said collectedly. "As corny as it sounds, it's really true! You were honest, just like I hoped. Now that I seen your darker side, I can tell that you are a real deal!"

Robin's eyes boggled again.

"Have you lost it, Tara?" the girl asked. "You were lucky that gun was not loaded, or you would have been killed!"

"She's right, T." Yune agreed. "Enough people have died over the past several days - enough for one lifetime, at least! Be thankful the gun wasn't loaded, or the support team would be a man short! It maybe acceptable to Mossad and their standards, but not by mine! You got that, T?"

"Understand that perfectly, Yune." She nodded as her hands went back up her skirt. Her fingers touched another piece of metal, flat and thin, smooth as she took it into her pinch. Rounds rattled when she pulled it out, flipping it collectedly around in her palm. "Why do you think I popped out the magazine in the first place? I'm beginning to think those blonde jokes are rubbing off on you. Then you'll really lose sight of the woman you're going to marry!"

"I'm just telling you how it is, T." Four hard legs tapped onto the floor simultaneously when the Asian went to pick the chair up. "That's all."

"And do not get me confused with those vigilantes!" She looked; Robin in the midst of crossing her arms gruffly. "I am not ready to sell my soul to the Devil over a trite act such as revenge! It is a response brought about by the onset of a fleeting emotion, not worth risking my soul for eternal damnation.

"Do not get me wrong; I am upset over this tragedy - this travesty. I am upset with Yune, but I can say with clarity that he was not responsible for Shia's demise. Of course, he had triggered the event that brought about his demise, but in the end it was Shia himself. Yune tried to get him his medicine, but Shia utterly refused! I know this, and knew it when he slapped the medicine away."

"But why do it?" she asked. "Why throw everything away?"

"Guilt?" Yune shrugged. "It must have finally caught up with him."

"No." Robin's ponytail swept gently with a shake of her head. "I believe there was more to it than that. If a guilty conscious had really haunted him so, he would have died a long time of ago by his own hands. It couldn't have just been that, there had to have been a better cause, and I think I know what that cause is."

"And what would that be?" She asked.

Out came a sigh, and then a drop of her head.

"Me…."

"I see…." Yune said. "It makes sense, in a reductionism kind of way."

It was clear that she was missing something; it must have gone over her head like a party balloon when she wasn't looking.

"You?" she blinked. "He chose death because of you?"

"In a matter of speaking," the girl nodded gently, barely, "I believe that is correct."

"What the heck are you talking about?"

"Is it really so hard to believe, T?" Yune asked her back. "That difficult to wrap your brain around? Despite earlier encounters and the utter shit he did, Shia really wasn't that bad of a guy after all."

"What?" her eyes practically crossed.

"Tara, we're talking about a man who'd choose death to protect the lives of the ones he truly loved." Yune said. "If he really wasn't, Robin would surely be sleeping under a white blanket by now, all at the Major's despicable request. Though why'd he start disobeying now is anybody's guess."

"Because I was collateral, Yune." Robin replied. "A way of making him do whatever the Major wanted, no matter how cruel or grotesque!"

Robin's hands contrasted definitely with the color of her shirt, fingering the buttons through thin eyes. She turned her head over her shoulder; Yune properly stared at the table as he wiped it clean. Her brow kinked severely as the dark girl slipped the last button free.

"Um…?" she was at a shortage for words. "What're you doing…?"

"Look at this!" Robin replied, the white flaps parting from a field of dark brown. "Both of you, if you don't mind."

"Just as long as you keep yourself in check, Rob." She said firmly. "This isn't Mardi Gras, let alone Bourbon Street!"

"Do not worry, Tara." Robin tucked those flaps behind her. "Exhibition is not my style AT ALL!"

Robin had a streak of cream in her coffee, a line of finer skin trailed down the middle of the girl's chest, to her belly where it stopped abruptly at the waist of Robin's skirt. Just by the look of it, it couldn't have simply stopped there. Impulsively she reached over, touching the pads of her fingers to the line. Robin looked away. Her skin crawled, throat tight as that line pushed back at her finger all the way down its length.

"Never had I felt so violated…." The African sniffed.

"My God…." She felt her Heineken bubble back up her throat. "What happened?"

"You have heard it too, I believe." Robin said. "About the brutal death of that billionaire?"

"Philippe Bullion?" Yune said. "Bonnet was behind it, from what I heard."

"And how do you think Shia agreed to it?" Robin said. No points awarded for the lucky guess.

"Drazen…?" Yune blinked. "He did this?"

"I told you I was collateral." Robin replied. "This scar proves it. I was with Shia at the time, sort of like a vacation. How wrong, was I. Shia did not have the heart to carry it out; he did not want to. But his employer changed his mind quickly. Two of his brutes took to my arms, binding them tightly. They tore my shirt! The Major himself walked up to me, his angled blade clenched in his hands - and slowly, he—!"

"Oh man…!" she winced, backing away.

"Indeed, friend." Robin sniffed again. "The heretic is a fiend! He enjoys watching people suffer, especially those whom he deems as unworthy. He probably pleasures himself while he thinks about it."

"So the baldness was apt after all." Yune mused ironically. "Just like the little skinhead he always was. Tristian apparently rubbed off on him."

"Indeed…."

A MIDI cut through the thick silence of the barroom, a whining tune so piercing and so loud that the composer himself probably popped his eardrums with a naked q-tip. Yune's hands dropped to his pants, patting the cloth roughly before one slipped into a pocket. A bending at his elbow reared his forearm back, the slim mobile pinched in his grasp.

"I'm beginning to hate this phone!" he cursed.

XXX

The phone stifled its screeching arrangement at the thumbing of the button, followed by a patch of rough static no longer than a measure when he pressed it against his head. Out from the receiver came a steady hum, the timbre feminine, pitch low like an alto. It wasn't static at all, he realized, when that drone morphed into intelligible syllables.

"Mr. Bin-Mok." Team Possible's favorite Agent-In-Charge replied. "Mr. Bin-Mok? This is Hershel calling."

"Really?" his reply came out bittersweet. "I thought it was Publisher's Clearing House, came to say that I've won a cool 10-mil!"

"Keep dreaming, Yune." Hershel sighed. "Frankly, I'll dream about that too! Go on a nice cruise; take a trip to Jupiter or something. I don't know - just as long as it's a nice sabbatical, far away from here."

"You sound beat." He noted.

"Tell me something I don't know." She said. "These past several days, they sucked the life out of me. I'm dryer than Ezekiel."

"Ezekiel?" he blinked. "Who's that?"

"Don't you know, Yune?" She asked rhetorically. "It's a biblical name, after all. The name is derived from Hebrew. Often in the book, the Lord calls him 'Son of Dust'. That's how I feel right about now. Dried up - shriveled like a raisin or a prune, waiting for the sun to bleach my bones white!"

His brow kinked. "A great and terrible apathy at being alive, are we?"

"Just about." She replied.

"Why are you down?" he asked. "I know this conflict is a drain. It's a drain on everyone, even to those a continent apart. Though the world feels like it's about to cave in, you should try at least to be hopeful. Did you think you would never see your homeland reborn, your language restored?"

"Yune." If the woman were in front of him, he was certain he'd see a stern frown. "I'm a native born Israeli. My mother was in the Six-Day War, serving as a nurse during the paratrooper operation to capture Jerusalem and the Temple Mount. She was pregnant at the time, and the intensity caused her to go into labor. She practically gave birth of the battlefield… a beautiful baby girl. I was that girl on June 8th, 1967.

"Israel's the only country I've ever known. I love… this country. I love this Holy Land, my home sweet home! I cannot bear the thought of having to live somewhere else, especially after what the people here have gone through! But I may have to bear it sooner than I thought. Dreams thrown to the wind, 'our bones are dry, our hope is lost, and we ourselves are cut off.'"

"Ezekiel 37, eh?" he said gently. "You people are reduced back to that already?"

"We might as well be." She said. "Another Diaspora; I can see it on the horizon. It won't be long before all nations are engulfed in conflict, and the world consumed the nuclear fire of war. We'll be crushed, our nation thrown to the wind once more. And that accursed nihilist will be at the center of it all!"

"Drazen…?" It came out of his mouth more as a curse than a question.

"The very same." She replied. "We should never have created him!"

"Created?" the kink on his brow fell halfway. He took in a collected breath, letting it out normally. Surprise blindsided him not, just a mere tap on the cheek as though he knew it all along. "I should have known…."

"You should have known?" the woman would have blinked should they have shared the same space. "-Dreckwe should have known! The rotten apple didn't fall far from the dead tree. How naïve we were with Col. Drazen and his methods. The Velvet Divorce, Yugoslavia, The Family Private Army: they were just phases to create the perfect weapon of genocide! We wanted a solider; what we got was a monster!"

"What is he…?" he asked. How little did he know indeed; Colonel Drazen's little boy truly was the stranger beside him.

"He?" she said. "He is Israel. Its opposite, its negative, the accursed -Amelek- we've fought against for every generation."

"What does he want?"

"He wants what he's always wanted since he was old enough to have thoughts of his own." She explained. "To twist all that is straight, to bend all that is upright. An end to it all, one way or another."

"Why?" he asked.

"Life has become purposeless in his eyes." She said. "He doesn't understand life - he CAN'T! To him, it is -the- enemy - the 'Devil', and those who relish in it must be accounted for and eventually terminated. In turn, that has become his purpose, to terminate and eradicate!"

"Pretty heavy stuff." He said suspiciously. "Why are you telling me this? Are you even on a secure line?"

"It doesn't matter anymore." He wasn't sure, maybe it was the static but he thought he heard a sniff. "We're as good as dead! Drazen has brought the whole world down on us. America has practically abandoned us! But you, you're different! You're American practically. Given our mistakes, it's not surprising that they'll listen to you more than they'll listen to us! Despite our best efforts to prove the contrary, the occupying forces will put us in collusion with Drazen while media the world over will slap on a fresh coat of paint! Our people will be scattered, and my peers and I'll most certainly be shipped to The Hague. No one will ever know…."

"Man, what're you on?" He shook his head. "Whatever you've been taking, reduce the dosage! What the hell's up, anyway?"

"Yune…!" she said gravely. "The siege weapon, it's launched."

"WHAT?" Robin and Tara looked over reactively.

"You heard me right." She said. "It launched, and it's on its way north now."

He was hesitant suddenly, a cold fear wrapping him with the tight, choking embrace of an anaconda.

"That means…!"

"Our satellite imagery caught a vehicle ahead of the weapon." She said. "It belongs to the VSA, but that could mean anything. Either the active element got out, or a group of potential defectors, or just another ploy by that snake in the grass. We can't take chances either way, so I decided to make my final move."

"What's that?" he frowned.

"Remember Gladius?" She said. "The USAF super-weapon that The Family was assigned to capture?"

"Yeah…?" he said drawly, his kink found its way back up again.

"Using the ZIP disk we got from your team," she replied, "we've activated it!"

"WHAT?" his eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Stealing US Government property? Are you INSANE?"

"The Navy had launched a tomahawk against it." Hershel sighed. "And like clockwork, Drazen had it shot down like it was child's play. Do not tell me different, Bin-Mok! Gladius -is- the only move we have left—!"

"HERSHEL!" he shouted.

"It's not directed to hit the ground." She said coolly, as though all was right with the encroaching world. "It is, however, directed to detonate the payload in the atmosphere above the Megiddo Valley."

"That's INSANE!" his eyes boggled. "That's SUICIDE!"

"No." she said. "We've already put the knife to our belly the moment we planned for Drazen's asylum, plunging it when the Prime Minster brought up this whole Temple Mount mess. This… is just the end of it. If we stop the weapon there, the end shouldn't come as harshly."

He growled.

"I've played my cards." She said gravely. "There's nothing left for me to do. But there is one thing that you can do, to reduce the amount of casualties for now."

"What do you want?" he said.

"Call the mayor's office." She said. "Tell him to issue a statement to the public, one that says all civilians, either Jew or Muslim, must stay in their homes for today - no matter what happens! See what you can do about postponing the ceremony while you're at it."

"Why can't you do it?" he asked.

"Mossad's stretched thin." She said. "All available resources have been relocated to Drazen and his encroaching army, not to mention keeping the Director from suggesting 'Samson' to the Prime Minister. I'm already expecting Shin Bet agents to come knocking at my door.

"With the division over this whole Temple Mount crap, the message wouldn't even reach the mayor through the regular channels. But I'll give you his direct number, and tell you what to say. No way his aides could terminate a call direct to his cell phone."

"Then what?" he said. "What should we do after that?"

"Nothing at all." She said. "Kim and Ron might as well be dead. Pack up and get out of the country ASAP. I can get you two on a plane at Ben-Gurion, and have you over international waters within a couple hours."

"No." he shook his head. "We can't go."

"What do you mean, you can't?" she said.

"Kim and Ron maybe gone, but you still got us!" he said. "Maybe we can help somehow!"

"Bin Mok!" she growled. "The mission is a failure! Pull out immediately!"

"No." he frowned.

"NO?" her yell was static in his ear. "This is an order, Bin-Mok! You will be on the plane, out of here NOW!"

"Later, Hershel." He dismissed with his thumb on the button, making it sink deep into the plastic. "We got work to do!"

"Don't you HANG UP ON ME—!"

He felt that button click softly under his thumb. The dim clock on the LCD had stopped its count, could not have cared less what the phone bill would shake him down tomorrow for when he easily dropped it inside the pocket of his pants. Hell - if Drazen even touched that mountain, defiled it with bloodied fingers or the sharp belly of the rapier, there wasn't going to be a tomorrow.

"Just another day at the office." A sigh passed through his frowned lips.

"What's up, Yune?" Tara inquired. He looked, and she gazed back at him warmly, as though all was right with the world. Ignorance is bliss; too true, it is. "What's going on? Did that Hershel lady get a run in her stocking?"

"As irritating as that is, Tara," Robin rested her head on her palms, "I do not believe that she would commit suicide over that. That is, unless of course she is a manic-depressive. Is that how you would say it? Or do you Americans use the term 'bi-polar'?"

"We can use both." The blonde shrugged. "But I don't really know what's her problem. Do you know, Yune? She sounds like she's about to shoot herself!"

"After what she said," he cocked his neck to a side, feeling the bones -POP-, "I wouldn't blame her."

"Well…?" Tara pressed with wide, expectant eyes. "What'd she say? Are you going to tell us?"

"Things are about to get interesting." He said. "Really damn quick."

Her pumps made a sharp -clack- on the floor when she slipped purposefully off the stool, a slow staccato of clicks on her elevated heels as she walked for him. A fine hand curled into a fist, the small knuckles pressing against her hip squarely.

"Don't stall, Yune!" she frowned gently. "Don't make me pull teeth! It's messy and you know I hate the sight of blood."

"You are actually going to pull out his teeth?" Robin blinked incredulously. "What on earth would that do? If you think he cannot tell you now, you are mad if you honestly believe that he can afterwards."

"It's an expression, Rob." She sighed. "Chill out."

"Oh." The dark girl blinked again. "Okay then."

"Again, what is going on?" she asked. "Tell me the truth!"

"Tara…." He didn't fight against gravity, letting it pull at his head till his chin rested a little above his collarbones. "Ron's failed."

"What…?" her eyelids parted a little wider.

"You heard me, T." he nodded. "The Major's ace-in-the-hole is in play. Ron failed his mission. Him and Kimberly are probably dead."

An abrupt gasp; the blonde reared herself back a step. "Oh my God!"

"They're probably talking to Him right about now." He said lightly, ironically. Why, he didn't know. "If St. Peter had the common decency, that is."

The edges of her fingers met his crown firmly, sharply.

"That's not funny, Yune!" she huffed. "They were probably torn limb from limb - by that FREAK we saw yesterday - and you're making jokes?"

"I am going with Tara on this one, Yune." Ron folded her arms. "It is not wise to speak ill of the dead, you know."

"True." He rubbed his head. "I'd apologize properly, but we've no time for this! Our able element's gone! We have to do something before they arrive!"

"Who is coming?" Robin asked.

"The Major, of course!" He replied. "His master weapon just launched, and he's bringing up here - to -this- city! He plans to use it against the ceremony later today!"

Robin dropped her crossed arms. "What?"

"You heard me." It was his turn to fold his arms, just a little more loosely. "It seems he's serious about halting the ceremony, even if it means trashing the Temple Mount in the process. I don't think I have to explain what repercussions that'll have on the rest of the world."

"Another World War…!" Tara's eyes were frightfully wide, in paralyzing awe of the mere concept of it.

He couldn't blame her. He took in a deep breath at the thought, letting it swirl around in his lungs for a moment. The simple idea, the planet once again consumed into another needless conflict, he didn't want to be a pedant for the messy details. Nope, he'd leave that for the eager historians once the planet gets past the whole mess should God let it be so.

Nihilism, my good man…. - Drazen's words rang true in his ears. -A pure and simple world of chaos and honor, where a man of my stature can finally be appreciated! What this slab of sand needs right now, if you ask me…. -

"An age of fear will truly begin!" Robin exclaimed. "Neighbor against neighbor, son against father, and father against son! And with The Russ back to The Primakov Doctrine…! If that accursed Major were to succeed, the whole world would surely come down on us!"

"With America taking point." He nodded. "They want Drazen so bad, they'll invade this country!"

"WHAT?" Robin's eyes went as wide as Tara's, even wider.

"They've set the bait." He replied. "I'm sure of it when I heard that a few trigger-happy GI's deployed here. When Drazen kills them, it'll give the administration all the reason it needs to send in a serious reaction force!"

"But they are our friends!" Robin protested uselessly, practically on the verge of -falling down- like Michael Douglas. "They have been our friends since 1948 - hell - our -only- real friend we have ever had! They cannot do this! THEY CANNOT DO THIS!"

"They can, and they probably will." He shook his head. "Politics make strange bedfellows. The foibles of politics and the march of time can turn friends into enemies, just as easily as the wind changes. It's ridiculous!"

"Have you been playing that game again, Yune?" Tara asked. "You know, the one about the nuclear robots and such?"

"A little bit." He shrugged. "But a lot of it makes sense, if you'd bother to watch the cut-scenes!"

"The world is coming to an end." Robin said. "What are we going to do?"

"Well…" his hand dipped back into his pocket, "I got to call Hershel again for that number. Tara, start up the car. If we're done here, I'd like to be back at the apartment within the hour."

"Who're you going to call?" She joked bitterly. "Ghostbusters?"

"Jerusalem's mayor." He slipped the phone back out. "I'm going to see if he can keep the people away, maybe even delay the ceremony. No promises though."

"What does Hershel want us to do?" She asked.

"She'd like us to cut our losses and head for Ben Gurion." He thumbed the buttons easily enough. Hershel's number blinked onto the read out, fleeting as he thumbed another button. The phone began to count the seconds as he put it to his face. "But there's too much at stake here to just quit. I hate to say it to you, Tara, but if it's my time to die, then it's my time. Drazen has to be stopped one way or another!"

"I know." She nodded somberly. "I realize that. So that's why I'm going with you."

A smooth ring blew into his ear.

"Tara—" he couldn't finish.

"Don't tell me to go home now!" She wasn't finished yet. "We've come to far! Yune, we started this together and we're going to finish it together, no matter what!"

Another ring.

"T—"

"No matter what, Yune." She put a hand to his shoulder, letting it deliberately slip to his one of his pecks. His heart beat against her palm rhythmically, picking up the pace when she pressed against him. "Like it or not, you're stuck with me till the end. Okay?"

Another ring.

"You are never alone when you have a friend, Yune." Robin agreed. "Better yet when that singular word becomes plural. Consider me a new recruit! Tell me what to do or what you need, and I will do it!"

Her hand slipped off his body when she turned around. "Are you sure, Robin? This isn't a game you know, far from it. There's a great chance that you could get killed!"

Another ring blew in his ear.

"Do you honestly think that my life would mean anything in this land, should the Major's plan come to pass?" Robin asked back, folding her arms again. "No, it would not. You may be visitors, but this is my land - my home! I cannot yet join the IDF, but if there is anything that I can do for you, then please - let me do something!"

"Very well then, Rob." Tara said. "Remember that it's your choice, and that no one coerced you into it."

Another ring. Where the hell was that tanned Barbie?

"I will." The dark girl nodded eagerly back. "I have always wanted to fight for my country someday! Though I am afraid that my relationship with Shia and the VSA would make it too troublesome."

"Right." She motioned for the door. "Could you start Sadie for us? The keys should still be in the ignition, if I remember right. Consider it your first task. You can even be our driver, if you want."

Another ring. It wouldn't be long till he heard that all day.

"Of course." Rob nodded again. The clicking of her thin heels followed her out the door, the jangling of the doorbell overwhelming it completely. "I will warm her up, and maybe slap some sense back into her LCD."

"Don't get your hopes up." She shrugged.

The door closed rather loudly with a bang. Robin strolled for the other side of the street, would have become another shadow in the night if it weren't for that button-down shirt. Tara's legs carried her over back to the bar, letting out a little huff as she hoisted herself back onto her stool.

Another ring - short and sweet as a static clatter assaulted his ear. A light grunt followed it, feminine with the range of an alto.

"This is Hershel." The woman replied deflated.

"Yeah…." He said in a drawl. The woman cleared her throat. "About that number again—?"

"Well, well, well…." Hershel replied smugly. "Look who came calling back?"

A grunt.

"You want to call him yourself?" He shot back. "Be my guest!"

"Good boy!" Hershel said. "I'll give you that number then. It's 4-161-677-889. Repeat, that number's 4-161-677-889."

His brow kinked. "That's an odd number."

"Ask him about it." The woman replied. "It's his number. He chose it after all. I don't know why though."

"There's no way he's going to believe anything I say." He replied. "Do you know that?"

"I know." She said. "We're not exactly on speaking terms, but tell him you're calling on behalf of me. He knows who I am."

"What if he doesn't believe me?"

"He will." She replied. "I'm sure of it. I know that big lug better than anyone else. He and I were in the IAF together. Saved his butt a couple of times during a training op, if I remember it right. In fact, I even called him just prior to your arrival in Prague about you guys, just in case this situation had come to pass."

"Okay." He nodded. "Good plan. Then what?"

"Tell him what I told you." She replied. "Issue the statement regarding to keeping the civilians away, and to delay the ceremony itself. Canceling it would be even better."

"Better not get your hopes up."

"I don't deal in hope or chance." She said sternly. "Just tell that wing-nut what I told you, and we'll have to hope for the best. As for the rest of you, get to Ben Gurion on the double. Your mission is over. There's no point keeping you any longer, go home. Maybe take that nice trip to Jupiter for me while you're at it. As for me, I'm going to dig in here and do what I can."

"Pray, while you're at it." He said. "It couldn't hurt."

"I intend to."

There came static at the other end, rattling and crisp - and then there was silence. His cheek bounced back when he removed the phone from his face, thumbing that button once more before it disappeared back into pocket, where the weight of it was the only trace of its presence. Tara spun on her stool toward him.

"What's up?" she asked.

"I got the number." He replied. "I was thinking about calling him now."

"Yune, it's a quarter till three in the morning!" she said. "He's probably asleep!"

"True."

The blonde scooped up her pistol on the bar, slapping that magazine home firmly with practiced ease, as though she'd been around guns all her life. She nestled the Baby Eagle into its nest as her hip, draping it over with the fabric of her skirt. With another huff, she hopped off the stool, her pumps clacking on the floor at once.

"If you absolutely must call him now," she said, "do it on the drive back to her place. I think Sadie's done enough warming up, and Robin looks bored."

"Okay then." He nodded. "But what about Rob's car?"

"Don't worry about it." Wavy hair swished gently when she shook her head. "Rob called over to me when you were on the phone again. She said she'll pick it up later."

"All right." He said. "I'll let the locals handle the rest of this mess. I hope Rob doesn't hate me after the police come knocking at her door."

"We'll worry about that later." She was already ahead of him, at the door in the midst of opening. "Come on! We got work to do!"

"Yes, my German princess—!"

"YUNE!" she growled back.

"Coming!"


	41. Chapter 41

(This update comes to you, my fans, a day earlier. Tomorrow I'll be off at work where computer access is severely limited. Till my next installment, enjoy this entry and read and review as always, if you please.

(Godhand's Number)

41

Day was upon them already. The little clock on Yune's phone read 10 in the morning before he even knew it. It felt like he and the rest of the team had been waiting all day, lounging practically in combat drab while they sat upon the ancient rocks that had once been one of Solomon's temples, looming over that beautiful, luscious plain that was Jezreel. Picturesque, it was to put it lightly. As his eyes ran over that juicy piece of Fertile Crescent, he could easily see why it would flow with milk and honey.

Tara was either backlit or a shadow, he couldn't tell. She stood as tall as the soles of his first pair of combat boots let her, a hand hidden by flowing hair while she surveyed the area. His ancient black Family garb baggy on her shapely figure, platinum hair a sharp contrast as the gentle breeze ran through it, pushing it ever so gently to a side.

"Wow…." The blonde was predictably in awe, just as much as he was. "This is - incredible! Do you see this, Yune? It's beautiful here, and I typically don't like the countryside!"

"I know." He replied before the thin brim of the bottle touched his lips. He yanked his head back as his mouth welcomed the cool, crisp taste of water happily. "I didn't think I'd ever see this place. I would have loved to come here on any other circumstances though."

"I do not get it." Robin said. The dark girl sat a few feet away from him, her dark skin covered from collarbone to ankle by a pair of cream-colored sweats. An old pair of hiking boots tied on her feet, and her hair lost the frizz when she had braided it tightly. She took the bottle off his hands, taking a sip before she handed it back. "Why on earth would he come through here? I am certain there are other places to the south where he could get through easily!"

"'Cause he's proud, I guess." He shrugged. "If there's anyone more pompous than old man Alex, it's his youngest kid—!"

"Burn - burn - BURN!" that infernal car shouted.

"Can someone please switch Sadie off?" he frowned. "We're wasting gas!"

"I will do it." Rob pushed herself to her feet. "Do not worry. I thought you might enjoy a little music while we wait."

"No thanks." He shook his head. "Not today."

"Of course." The girl hoisted herself up onto a rock, disappearing behind his back - and the sudden arrest of the small block was music to his ears. "There."

"This place is beautiful." Tara pressed. "I don't care what the situation is or will be! I'd like to come back here someday!"

"That is the spirit, friend." Robin said. "And I would love to have you back as well! The country could use your patronage!"

"Oh - I almost forgot!" The blonde slowly turned around. "How'd your conversation with the mayor go, Yune?"

"Fairly well, I'd say." He said. "He understood the situation perfectly, and was planning to issue that statement right about now. He couldn't cancel the ceremony or attendance, mind you, but from what I've heard from Hershel, most of the crowd got the message. Only a few decided to tough it out."

"That is great!" Robin said.

"Some good news today." Tara noted. "Still, today itself could go either way. Whatever happens, I just hope God's in the middle of it."

"He is, Tara." Robin replied for him. "No matter what happens today, tomorrow, or a couple of weeks from now, it is all in His capable hands. Regardless of what it may seem or look like, He knows what is best, and we will just have to let Him do it."

"But what does that make us?" She asked. "Chopped liver?"

"No, somehow I don't think that's the case." He took his turn. "I've got the distinct impression that we are supposed to be here, in this place. I don't know how or why, I just do. And when you're but a leaf in life's stream, it's best sometimes to simply go with the flow."

"But why here?" She asked again. "Why this valley? I don't get it. To me, there's nothing to capture, nothing to steal in a relative sense of the word."

"Because this is the Megiddo Valley, Tara." He replied. "The fabled valley of Armageddon, said to where the final battle takes place. It's a fitting setting, come to think of it. Drazen must have seen that too, when he chose to head north through the Jordan Valley. Sees himself as the judge to end all judges, perched high on his throne, dishing out sentences to those who choose neither to accept or deny it."

"It is the only natural opening that the good Lord had bothered to leave open." Robin noted aloud. "It is a key route going north-to-south and south-to-north, a part of the -via maris-, 'the way of the sea'. Traders used this route either going to Egypt or to Syria and Lebanon. Likewise, armies can use this route too."

"Plus Drazen hasn't any air support whatsoever, so he'd have to use this route." He pointed out. "That's what I would have done."

"I get it now," she nodded, "I think."

"But what on earth can we possibly do?" Robin asked. "We are only three people with an SUV and a few firearms! They have an army!"

"She's right!" Tara said. "We're no use to anyone if we're dead."

"That's where Hershel came in." He turned himself around as he pushed himself to his feet. Rob leaned her back against the car, and Tara bounced into view in the midst of long strides. "Tara, Robin: I'm about to tell you guys about some serious classified material! It can't EVER leave these ruins, or you might find some black choppers circling over your houses! Got it?"

"I understand." Rob nodded.

"Don't worry about me, Yune." Tara waved her hand dismissively. "My lips are sealed."

"Fine." He nodded. "Okay….

"Well over a month ago, myself along with The Family Private Army were sent to Escutcheon, an offshore breeding facility a few miles off the Pacific coastline, with the purpose of capturing it under contract with Colonel Drazen's rather eccentric cousin, Andrew Lipski."

"How could I forget?" Tara said. "I was there, remember?"

"Drew kept Alex in the dark about his true intentions till the old man figured it out to a certain degree. He knew something was there that Drew wanted badly, badly enough to risk certain -heath problems- for. That something was the USAF super-weapon, code named 'Gladius', a massive rail cannon equipped to launch nuclear warheads from orbit."

"Are you serious…?" Robin blinked.

"I remember reading about something like that." Tara cocked her head. "Thanks to some amateur photographs, it was on the news and on several news-sites a week later. The UN and the EU had a field day over that. If I remember right, the States were taking space walks to dismantle it. That's nothing new."

"Remember in Prague, Tara?" he asked. "About a day after we arrived, Kim and Ron were sent out to track Mr. Bonnet and poke into his business?"

"Yeah." She nodded. "It's the same day I saw the helicopter chase!"

"She brought back a ZIP disk that Uzi had on him." He said. "A bluer one. Do you remember it?"

"Yep." She said. "Kim nearly freaked when you handed it over to Hershel."

"Indeed." He said. "It turned out that disk contained the launch codes to Gladius itself."

"What…?" she blinked. "How'd that punk get a hold of that?"

"Back on Escutcheon, I walked in on a little - 'conversation' - Alex and Tristian were having with Lipski's assistant. He must have gotten a hold of it from her, and he eventually must have handed it over to Uzi, but that's just speculation! What I do know is that it's now in Hershel's hands and the Mossad."

"Yes," Robin nodded, "that is good news! It should be safe in their hands."

"Not so fast." He replied quickly. "When I talked to Hershel back in Zanzibar, she -unofficially- told me that she activated the cannon!"

"WHAT?" Robin's jaw nearly dropped off her face. "WHY?"

"For Drazen, of course." He replied. "And his little siege weapon too."

"How's that possible?" Tara exclaimed. "The US dismantled it! I read that myself!"

"Probably a ruse, but that's nothing new." He shrugged. "Or they mustn't have unloaded all the payloads yet. I don't know, but what I do know is they plan to launch it over this very spot when Drazen comes rolling through!"

"They plan to blast their own people?" Robin was flabbergasted.

"No." he shook his head. "Not quite. A high altitude detonation will cut down on the immediate loss of life, and the occurring electromagnetic pulse with fry the opposition's electronic equipment."

"But the fallout!" Robin protested. "It will pollute this area for years - decades even!"

"I don't know what ammo Gladius uses!" He lifted up his hands. "Look! Your protests are understandable, appropriate even, but you're complaining to the wrong guy. We're just field agents, and like it or not, we've got to play our part in this to a T! You all know what happens if we fail."

"Yeah…." Both girls said soberly.

"But if this is true," Tara inquired, "what're we still doing here, Yune? We're dead against them!"

"We're going to have to be the wild cards." He explained. "If the Mossad's last ditch effort paid off, great! The enemy will have lost their first strike capability. Either way, we have to finish this! At all costs, Drazen must not reach Jerusalem!"

"Agreed." The blonde nodded.

"Ever since I had arrived in this country, I knew that my stay would not always be peaceful." Robin said thoughtfully. "I knew that sooner or later I would have to put my life on the line, to fight for all the things I had ever cared about: life and love, freedom and justice. I know I will die someday, one way or the other; this life is not forever, but a wisp in eternity's eyes. But when it was my time to go, I wanted it to be for something - and not of something."

Tara was speechless. Even his words had trouble crawling up his neck.

"Robin…." He blinked. "That's very profound!"

"Robin!" Tara smiled brilliantly. "That's POETRY! I love it!"

"Why thank you, friends!" Robin grinned back. "I have considered being a poet myself, but I have not had the time or the inspiration to express myself into written language. Even if I did, you surely could not read it. Have you Americans ever tried to read from right to left, let alone recognize and understand characters you have seen only fleetingly?"

"Better send them to Ron then." Tara said. "He's probably the only one of us!"

"I have an interlinear bible set back home." He said. "Though I can't read the Hebrew, I do find that my eyes have the natural tendency to wander right to left. Sometimes I even find myself flipping through magazines backwards. Crazy, isn't it?"

"No." Cream shoulders shrugged, Robin's dark head sinking a couple of inches. "I do not think so. But that is just me, given how my first language was Hebrew—!"

"Wait a second!" loose dirt shifted when Tara pushed her feet apart, baggy folds of cloth flapping abruptly when her small frame bent into a gently hunch. Her eyes were just two aquamarine dots in a plush bed of white.

"What?" he felt his back straighten. "What is it?"

"I… don't know for sure." T loosened herself, unrolling from her gentle crunch slowly - only to drop down to it again. He felt something underfoot; so subtle that he wasn't certain he felt it at all. Perhaps his boot shifted; the ancient rock had been eroded smooth, after all.

"There!" She yipped. "I felt it again!"

"Are you sure, Tara?" Robin put a noticeable kink in her brow. "I have not felt a thing. You are tensed by the situation, yes? I cannot blame you. To say that I am not unnerved by these unfortunate events would be a lie. Or maybe your choice of clothing is starting to pick at you."

"I'm not hallucinating, Rob!" she frowned. "I felt something! I'm telling you - like a gentle rumbling."

One of his boots went behind the other, and his body twisted 180 degrees cleanly, just like he was back in the old days. Jezreel looked pristine as ever, ever since the settlers had encouraged the first morsels of fruit out of the desert all those years ago. The day was hot; he could barely see past the first couple of fields. His lips grinned sheepishly, feeling sorry for his girlfriend who had to tough it out in his old garb—

—His boots shook, the rock below trembling gently, firmly - and thick trunks of… metal, three of them, swept gently, gradually into his view from where the haze was whitely thick—

—And his lips pressed against each other tensely!

"I TOLD you I wasn't loosing it!" He looked, and Tara was off for Sadie already. Her torso disappeared behind the front seats, her legs bent, feet hanging in the air before she kicked herself back upright. The robust Barrett clenched tightly in her delicate, practiced hands. The bolt snapped loudly when she jacked in a heavy round.

"Are you sure that this is necessary?" Robin pushed quickly away from the car. "You should not use a cannon to swat a mosquito, you know!"

"Except when the mosquito won't stay down!" She retorted hastily. A small click came from the rifle, and it went airborne for moment as the blonde shouldered it by the sling.

The Baby Eagle slipped out of the holster smooth by those same practiced hands. She held it close to her face while she popped out the "PEZ" dispenser, gazing at her bird's thick choice of food with hurried eyes - and the eagle suckled on them eagerly when she slapped it back home. Racked the slide quickly, she did, smooth and efficiently just as he taught her.

The lethal bird took to the air like a newborn chick, falling back into his girl's palm by the stubby, awkward beak. She held it out to Robin, who eased herself away by a step.

"Here you go, Rob!" T said. "Take it."

"I would rather not…!" The girl replied, lifting up a dark hand by the cream swathed arm. "I am not used to such devices."

"Was anyone?" the blonde said rhetorically.

"I am not sure that I should—!"

Robin experienced the wee hours of the morning all over again when T took her by the wrist, cringing slightly when the blonde shoved the grip of the pistol into her hand, encouraging those dark fingers to squeeze that grip like it were Uzziel's big head.

"Trust me!" Tara smirked grimly. "You should!"

"Showtime's not even a couple miles away, Robin!" He said sternly. "War's coming - and -fast-! We don't have the manpower to baby-sit! As cruel as this may sound, you'll have to watch your back as well as ours! It sucks, but that's just the way things go!"

"I do not wish to be a hindrance." Robin shook her head. "Will I only get in your way?"

"No," he shook his head back, "but you have to give it your all, no matter what! Got it?"

The girl took in a deep breath. The top of her sweats seemed to swell as she let it sit for a moment, deflating like a leaky balloon when she let it out quietly.

"Yes." She nodded firmly. Her body went straight, stiffer than a board; a flat, stiff hand of hers quivered when the tips of the fingers touched the side of her brow in a salute. "A trial by fire. What a better way to prove myself worthy of the honor! You can count on me, Yune Bin-Mok! I swear by the grace of the good Lord, I shall not fail you!"

He smiled. Robin Ata, an innocent Ethiopian dragged along for the mess, ready to put everything on the line, regardless of the sheer madness circling around like buzzards. Standing tall, mocking death itself as she defiantly stood in its way. He couldn't help but give her a salute of her own.

"Carry on, soldier." He nodded.

"You know how to work that thing?" T asked aptly.

"Yes." Robin said gently. "Simply because I am not used to them does not mean that I do not know how to use one."

"Good." Tara smirked. "That gun carries a maximum of 12 bullets. When you run out of ammo, you can have mine. I only have three extra magazines, so don't get trigger happy with it!"

"Do not worry, I will not." Rob shoved the pistol into her pants, letting it press into her body by the elastic waistline. "I shall pick my battles wisely!"

"Good." He turned back around. The three trunks of steel had grown to twice their original size in the haze, yet dropping in altitude dramatically as their trembling owner moved them closer. A faint metal sliver cut off the center trunk horizontally, evenly while the two outer trunks ran longer; all three of them seemingly encircled a sort of structure.

"What the hell is that?" Tara exclaimed panicked.

"The siege weapon!" he growled. "Rob, start Sadie up - Pronto! You're driving!"

"Yes sir!" she called.

"I'm calling shotgun!" he called. "Tara, you're taking the back seat again!"

"Gladly!" she called back.

"Wait a minute!" Rob exclaimed worriedly over Sadie's loud thirst for petrol. "What shotgun? I do not recall you bringing a shotgun with us!"

Though he let out a sigh, his eyes couldn't be bothered to take a lap around in the sockets.

"Forget it, Rob." Tara replied. "Focus!"

"Yes ma'am!"

He rushed for the car while his girl waved him on. The passenger door ajar was a welcome sight. Sadie's growling like music to his ears, powering over that dreadful rumbling easily as Robin quenched the vehicle's thirst for the pungent drink with just a tap of her foot. The subtle vibrations cradling his backside were like magic fingers compared to that rock, and Sadie rocked when he hastily yanked the door back into the frame.

The metal trunks in the sky had torn away from the thick, clinging veil of haze, Uzi's master weapon in the Full Monty, everyone close by forcibly beholding its naked grandeur. They couldn't miss it even if they tried, tall as a football field and just as wide. The trunks were huge cannons (an Israeli naval destroyer was probably missing a few) that crowned the control structure, glass shining, glinting with impossible sheen. The pilots were practically blind, yet still they rolled for them - deliberately, purposefully, a very long line of earth upturning impossibly behind it, even for a monster of that size.

His hand went for his Daewoo, slipping it out easily of the holster. He jacked in a round, a measly, underpowered nine-millimeter JHP with over three magazines to spare. Not that they'd do him much good now….

Help us out here, please…! -

Suddenly the behemoth stopped, dead in its very large, very wide tracks; the dusty line behind overwhelmed by the thick haze.

"That'll work!" he shrugged.

"What will work?" Rob asked.

"Nothing, forget it—!"

"WELL, WELL, WELL…!" The beast spoke to him, blaring at him through megaphones… heavy with Slavic intonation. He knew it! "Who do we have here, perched by the old temple ruins like a damn buzzard?"

"You're asking me?" another voice, a rather firmly proper voice, came out of those same speakers.

"Rhetorical question, 2nd Lieutenant!" Uzi's voice blared out again. "-Dreck! -"

The beast had multiple personalities, it seemed, when another different voice shouted out the megaphones. Yet this one was familiar to him, the words digitized seemingly, speaking with an artificial, machine-like quality - just like Sadie before she took a holiday.

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!" it yelled.

Even Sadie was taken aback. "Burn…?"

"I second that!" A new voice said, thick with a Semitic character.

"Me three!" the 2nd Lieutenant replied.

"-SHTUP! -" Uzi shouted back to the nameless, faceless men. "SHUT UP, ALL OF YOU! I'm the Major - and I'M GLOATING HERE!"

"Like we've ever stopped you before—?" the mechanical thing replied.

"ENOUGH!" Uzziel predictably screamed - and a deafening shot blasted out the megaphones like a clap of thunder. His ears could barely catch a pin-drop, the sharp telltale ring of brass skittering on the floor.

There was silenced—

—"You SHOT AT ME?" the Semitic one's scream was thick with a surprised, incredulous fury.—

—But not for long.

"Damn straight!" Drazen huffed smugly.

"YOU SHOT AT ME!" the Semitic guy shouted incredulously. "I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU SHOT AT ME! Bad enough you killed two of your own men yourself, BUT NOW YOUR SHOOTING AT ME? THE FUCK, MAN?"

"Not my fault you're a little bitch, Dave!" Uzi yelled back.

"I'd be careful about decimating your own men, Major Drazen—!" the machine couldn't finish.

"SHUT UP, MATT!" The control tower shouted at once.

"This is going to take all day." Tara groaned.

"Maybe they'll kill each other." He guessed uselessly. "Maybe they'll forget we're even here! Just keep cool and—!"

"First, you shoot up your hometown up like Beirut - then Tel Aviv - smack your best man around like a speed bag - AND NEARLY BUST THE ARM OF SOME INNOCENT GERMAN TOURIST! WHAT THE HELL'S NEXT, DRAZEN? DANGLE BABIES OVER BALCONY RAILINGS?"

"Oh shit!" he yelped.

His legs hit the center console as he spun around in his seat - but he was too late! Tara was already standing tall on the backseat, blue eyes locked open, and her face pulled into a mask of aggravated rage. The rifle already in her clenched hands, primitive stock pushed firmly against her shoulder, eyes glaring down those original sights while her finger furiously took up the trigger slack!

"For the last DAMN TIME," she snarled, "I'M NOT GERMAN, YOU BASTARDS!"

"Tara DON'T—!"

Too late again; with her furious battle cry ringing true throughout the valley, she blasted her rage spiraling aimlessly for the telemetry tower's glass in the form of a half-inch round. Its mark simply was lost on the glass's sheen, though a few sparkles fluttered down to the ground like ice crystals. It wasn't lost on her target at all; he'd gotten the message clearly.

"Oh!" Drazen chuckled sheepishly. "How rude of me to shun my friends! Thank you for reminding me, -shikse-! We've got work to do!"

"Tara," he snarled, shooting the blonde a furious glare, "YOU FRIGGING IDIOT!"

Tara dropped the rifle off her shoulder, knee-jerk rage forgotten instantly. She looked hurt, but clearly he saw in her sobered face that she knew she had at least a backhand coming to her.

"I'm… sorry—!" she said.

"Sorry is NOT going to cut it, T!" he seethed.

"Friends!" Robin interjected, playing referee. "Stop this infighting—!"

"Thank you ever so much for sending me the message!" The major gloated proudly. "Distractions like these aren't going to get me anywhere anytime soon. But please, let me be so kind as to send you guys a message of MY OWN!"

Turning back around, he couldn't wait to see this—!

The center cannon blew its top explosively! A thick column of fire erupted out of the massive bore, the cannon itself recoiling a few decimeters. The ground trembled with such force it'd have put Mt. Saint Helens to shame, even where Sadie planted her four feet! But the blackening column - it reached high, soaring into the bright sky to where it seemingly dissipated—

—But it was all he needed to see!

"Robin!" he barked. "Punch it!"

"Punch it?" the dark eyes blinked while she quickly put Sadie into gear. "Punch what?"

He clasped his hand atop her closest knee roughly.

"I said PUNCH IT!" He shouted - and she yelped when he shoved the rest of her leg down to where it couldn't sink anymore. Sadie was overwhelmed so with gasoline that she couldn't take it anymore, just as he'd hoped, uncontrollably hauling them swiftly towards that precipice!

"Burn - burn - BURN!" the vehicle screeched as wildly as her tires.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Robin shouted. "GET OFF MY LEG!"

"YUNE!" Tara screeched.

"I know what I'm doing!" he frowned.

It was déjà vu all over again when both girls' screams overwhelmed the sound of the tires.

"NOT EVEN GOD KNOWS WHAT YOU'RE DOING!"

XXX

The lumbering, treading weapon of certain doom had stopped in its tracks. It rumbled gently in her rearview mirror, running idle between the two sloping outcroppings of rock that she'd just sped through. It ran out of gas? Probably, yet it wouldn't rumble at all if that were true. Something must have caught Drazen's good eye, sticking out like a sore thumb even through that glass Ron had pockmarked snow white….

—But after a brief spell of infighting between the vehicle's pilots, the muzzle of the center cannon exploded in a brilliant - smoggy cloud of fire and light, blinding her in the mirror briefly! The explosion itself crashed into her drums like someone tossed a flash-bang into the passenger seat! Overkill really, all because some local nearby caused a few more specks of glass to fall from the pane.

"What the hell's going on?" Ron exclaimed.

"Yeah!" His buddy squeaked.

"You're asking me?" she blinked. "How the hell should I know? Probably just showing off his big guns-!"

"But you heard him, KP!" Ron continued. "He was talking to someone - someone he knows! Probably someone -we- know too! Did you hear that last part from that other guy, and how someone shouted back and took a potshot from those ruins?"

"Yeah." She nodded dismissively. "So?"

"Kim," he said with a little more -oomph-, "that guy mentioned the word 'German'!"

She blinked thoughtfully.

"Now who do we know that flips out at that word—?"

"Don't matter now!" she exclaimed, eyeing that mirror disbelievingly. "Look!"

A chunk of something ran itself - as Ron and Rufus were her witnesses, that chunk didn't tumble - it -ran- itself off the precipice! It was a rather large chunk, very large and oddly shaped for a rock, glowing a fiery red as it threw itself onto the ground. Four blackened outcroppings on the bottom were rounded smooth, recoiling into the rest of the body as it rolled for them—!

"Sadie…?" she squinted at that approaching object.

KA - BOOOOOMMM! -

The hummer rocked, quaking on its four rubber feet while she was thrown against the driver's door! A greater explosion rocked the countryside! Ron let out a haggard cough, gagging practically while his buddy squealed nastily, his little pink body leaping into the air on its own accord. She didn't think it was possible to deface a ruin any further, but that thick, foggy cloud bellowing, fuming out the top third of that same precipice shown her differently.

"Holy COW!" Ron yelled. "Look at that! It's practically a damn volcano back there!"

"Doesn't matter anymore." That approaching object took more of a definite shape in the mirror two cloudy eyes staring at her, baring those shiny fronts at her like she was looking at a hip-hop artist. She couldn't help but smirk back. "We've got company!"

"And they're friendly!" Ron shouted gratefully. "Really friendly! YO! OVER HERE, YOU GUYS! IT'S ME - THE RON MAN'S IN THE HIZZ - OUSE!"

She wasn't so sure at first when that blonde head popped out of the top like jack in the box, with a rather large, rather long piece of fashioned steel in hand. The steel's steely gaze waned at its handlers wish, instead staring aimlessly at the sky when the handler simply laid it against the nearby door. The gunman gun-woman-, she should say, simply waved back.

It took only a minute before that vehicle - that SUV with the hot paintjob - to roll alongside them. She killed the engine with a simple back-flick of the wrist, and she hopped out the hummer just as her door angled away far enough. The looks on the passenger's faces were priceless, if only she had bothered to snatch a camera on her way out.

"KIM!"

Tara shouted with joyful exuberance, Sadie rocking violently, her boyfriend shaking uncontrollably when the blonde girl jumped for joy. She almost laughed when the girl tumbled out of the car, onto her back when the top of the door caught her by the ankle.

"OW—!" the girl yelped, gradually pulling herself back up with a hand to the back of her head. "DAMN - THAT HURT!"

"No more monkeys jumping on the bed, T." Yune mused weakly. "Likewise, no more caffeine for you."

"Forget that!" Tara bounced up and down giddily again; some lessons never learned. "Kim's alive! She's alive! She's alive - LIVE - LIVE - LIVE - LIVE!"

"BURN!" Sadie barked. "Burn - BURN!"

"Uh…!" her brow put in a kink all by itself. "Yeah…! Good to see you too, Sadie. I think…! You too, Yune."

"As much as I'd like to properly welcome you two back, I can't." Yune said gravely, turning his back to her, steeling a glimpse behind them. A grim reminder, it was, that they were not out of the woods yet, not even a far cry from its edge. "We still got work to do!"

"I know." Her sigh was fleeting, lost to the breeze as a firm resolve hardened deep inside her like steel. She'd come too far, seen so much of the evil manifest from Uzi, that fouled soul beating malignantly within that black heart, to simply cut and run! He had to be stopped, one way or another. "I know what needs to be done."

"Good." He nodded.

"Ron." The back door creaked open; the blond lumbered out right as she called. "Saddle up. We're taking Sadie, since this car's running on empty anyway. Grab the rocket grenades!"

"Rodger-dodger, KP." He said, and she could hear him crawl back inside.

"Yune," she asked, "is it possible we can take the machine gun with us?"

"A bit of a pain," the Asian nodded, "but it's possible."

"Please - and - thank - you!" She smirked as Yune hopped out of the car, his desert print brushing against her olive as she walked for the Sadie's passenger side. "Ron, grab the chains while you're at it! I'm taking shotgun!"

Ron moaned - and she did a double take at the driver when she put her foot on the running board. The build, the hair, and the face; those brown eyes stuck in a familiar shape when the girl gave her a quizzical look! Was that—? No, it couldn't be! She was in St. Croix, enjoying her existence without a care in the world, having some good old-fashioned fun in the sun!

"Monique?" she blinked.

"Monique?" the dark girl batted it back, voice character and pitch practically a match yet hindered by that thick African accent. "I am sorry, friend, but you must have me confused with someone else."

"I don't believe it." Her seat rattled as she closed the passenger door. "You could be her twin! Just your skin and clothes are different—!"

"My name is Robin." The girl replied. "From the family Ata. As a girl from a village in Ethiopia, I can safely say that I have not been across the Atlantic. So rest assured that I am not who you think. Your friends, I take it, can 'vouch' for me - as you Americans would say."

"Hell - it doesn't matter at this point." She shook her head. "Robin, can you drive this thing effectively?"

"Yes." The base of the ponytail rolled a bit when the girl nodded. "I happen to be an excellent driver."

"Driving evasively in an SUV is trickier than it looks, you know." She warned. "It's not like you can take a quick turn on the fly, you have to be more thoughtful and careful about it."

"Of course." Robin nodded again. "I will keep that in mind!"

"Take care of the driving, Robin." Yune called with a huff. She looked, and with some help from Ron, the M60 was clear of its mount. It nearly took a spill on the ground as the blond tried to negotiate it off the vehicle, making Sadie rock as he hoisted it into the backseat. "One a simple condition though: leave whatever fighting there is to us!"

"Yes sir!" 'Robin' nodded. "You may count on it!"

"IDF forces should be here any minute now!" Yune said.

"Yeah…!" she peered through the haze. A faint trail of dust floated by the horizon, pluming larger and larger till she could make out the blocky shapes of vehicles just ahead of it. "I think I see them now."

"They'll take care of Drazen's army!" Tara said over the jingle of ammo chains, metals rattling noisily together as the blonde chucked them into the back. She wiggled her way to an available seat, and helped Ron with the rocket grenades when he approached. The RPG-7 itself leaned next to the big rifle while its volatile rounds disappeared below the top of the center console. "We'll have to concentrate on Drazen himself!"

"Well isn't this cute!" The devil himself jeered loudly from his throne, hidden by the megaphones and pockmarked glass like the coward he was. "The A-Team gathers! Aw… it's so cute! This'll go great in the baby book as 'Baby's First Consolidation'! And look over yonder! They brought friends! Bring it on, I say! This'll be fun!"

"Uh… Sir?" the stick man said over a flat, droning bleat.

"I wonder what it's like on your end, Possible!" Drazen laughed. "Waiting for the sword to fall, to cleave your head in two? Kind of like when you were back in G's fun house, if I remember right! Isn't that right, Eli?"

"Sir…?" stick man said again.

Another bleat.

"Oh, that's right, Eli!" Drazen said lightly. "You were a little -tied up- at the moment, weren't you? Kind of like how you tied up the wench, provided that you could tie A DAMN KNOT RIGHT! To think how much trouble we could have saved if that happened, eh?"

"Sir…!" stick man pressed firmly.

Another bleat. A sigh.

"Must you always steal my joy, Eli?" Drazen probably would have frowned.

"Uh…." Stick man let out a dumb man's drone. "I'm not exactly sure how to tell you this but—!"

Another bleat.

"What the hell is that damn noise anyway?" Drazen asked.

Yune chuckled softly, a sort of delirious smile upon his tight face as he followed Ron into the SUV. She saw a smile pull at Tara's lips weakly, and the black girl beside her let out a deflated sigh. Ron's chocolate eyes nearly crossed, and she was glad to see that she wasn't the only one who let the proverbial balloon float over her head.

"What's going on?" Ron asked. "What's the deal?"

Her eyes crossed too, going wide in awe as the stick man answered Ron's question inadvertently, over the megaphones for the whole countryside to hear.

"Major Drazen," the stick man said gravely, "we've… been 'painted'!"

Drazen replied appropriately… and very loudly.

"What THE HELL—?"

In a split second, not even in a twinkling of her eye, Drazen got his answer…!


	42. Chapter 42

42

God must have said, "Let there be light!"—

—A spectacular ball of light, floating high above her in the sky, so bright for a split-second that it turned that endless field of baby blue white! —

—And boy there was light!

Utter silence swept over the battlefield in the violent, trembling wake of the light, pushing everybody away a few feet the moment it appeared. All eyes were on it - and shunned it instantaneously; it was so powerful, so overwhelming as though God had finally revealed himself to the masses.

But… it wasn't Him; it couldn't be Him! Angels were nowhere; the heavenly armies of the most high were nowhere to be seen! That light! It could have cared less or not at all! It cared not if anyone was hurt, would not shed a tear if a sparrow fell. No, it had shouted at her - at everyone when it appeared. It glared down upon her hotly, grinning at her viciously with a bright and fiery maw!

Drazen wasn't the only demon present, it seemed.

"What the hell?" Ron was aghast, his mouth, his eyes open so wide that Kim was waiting for him to melt, Raiders of the Lost Ark style. "What the hell's THAT?"

Sudden, certain familiarity swept over her, a tickle tingling throughout her body as though she knew what it was all along.

Her eyes nearly went as wide as Ron's.

"Is that what I think it is…?"

"Gladius!" Tara exclaimed. "It launched!"

"This is sure as HELL is not the place to be!" Ron exclaimed.

"Maybe it is…!" She couldn't help but let her eyes wander for the intended target. "Look!"

All friendly eyes planted on the overgrown tank… that shivering, rattling tank! The tank was trembling, quaking in its large tracks, the guns of the turrets bouncing aimlessly, erratically, violently while the cannons quivered only gently. Softly at first, of course, then intensifying, rattling stronger and stronger before the whole valley was enveloped by the noise. The weapon was practically hopping off the ground in a full-blown seizure!

"The FUCK, MAN?" the megaphones shouted demandingly in a Slavic accent.

"I don't know!" the phones exclaimed in more of a proper tone. "The controls are down!"

"WHAT?" the Slavic shouted.

"This is rich!" Kim couldn't help a smirk cutting across her face sharply. Her arms folded smugly. "Where's the popcorn when you need it?"

Electrical arcs were beautiful in their own right; so quick, so raw, so pure, jumping, hopping with many others from nameless point to nameless point on the weapon's shell! Not even a moment had passed before the whole infrastructure was engulfed in paper-thin, jagged white stripes.

"ABNORMAL POWER CASSCADE RUNNING THROUGHOUT THE SYSTEM!" the phones practically screamed like a Semitic. "I can't shut it down - I CAN'T SHUT ANYTHING DOWN!"

"DAVID!" it shouted like a Slavic again. "WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN UP TO?"

"SHIT!" it exclaimed like a Semitic. "It's TOO LATE! POWER LEVELS ARE AT CRITICAL! FUEL AND OIL TANKS ARE OVERHEATING!"

"WHAT?" it came like the Slavic.

"I believe it means we're about to go up, Major!" It elaborated properly. "Really -up-!"

"Aw man…!" the digitized voice whined. "Not again—!"

A flash of blinding light - and she was crunched, head bouncing against the firm dashboard. An explosion blossomed out from the weapon's stern in a thunderous clap - then another one - then another - and another! Swollen hot, blazing buds on the weapon blossomed almost simultaneously, the infrastructure consumed, engulfed by many, flaming petals. Embers like pollen, disappearing high into the sky never to been seen again.

Though the fires of his dark eternity lapped for him through the glass, it didn't stop Drazen from cursing out his final word.

"POSSIBLE!" The Slavic screamed! It was a dream come true when the glass gave way, the flames lapping, clawing inside for the fresh meat—!

And so the horrible screams began. Music to her ears, it was, as much as her belly churned heavily at the thought. Drazen was gone - he was finally gone! One less maniac was off the planet, off the hair trigger of a nuclear holocaust. The world was once again safe… for now.

"Is it over…?" Tara asked harmlessly enough, her hands practically dead weight in the rearview, slipping off the top of her head and back to her sides. "Is he finally gone?"

"Don't know - don't care!" She shook her head. "Let's head for the approaching convoy before the VSA goes for target practice!"

"Good point!" Tara replied.

"Heard that!" Ron nodded. "Come on, Robin! Let's go already!"

"Yes." Robin had a faint smile on her face, dark eyes calmed, disappearing behind those dark lids as the girl nodded. "If that is what you wish."

"I'd wish for three more wishes, but I can't." Ron replied needlessly, tactlessly. Robin blinked. Kim's brow kinked typically, eyes taking a lap. "I lost my magic lamp back in the Jordan Valley!"

"The hell…?" Yune was at a loss.

"Huh…?" So was Tara.

She sighed. It was a sign! When Ron joked pointlessly, all was right with the world.

"Forget him." She said.

"That's cold, KP." Ron huffed slightly.

She sniggered gently. "Come on, Robin. Let's go home!"

"Yes ma'am." The dark girl nodded while she put Sadie into gear.

"Oh yeah!" Ron cheered, his black glove punch its way into her view of the rearview mirror. "Party at Rob's place! Uh-HUH! OH YEAH! Party over here – WHOOP - WHOOP! Party over there - WHOOP - WHOOP! Uh - do the robot! DO THE ROBOT!"

"Do the monkey!" Yune said jovially.

Brown, mirrored eyes went wide, sweat beading just below the long, messy bangs. The whole car erupted in laughter when the messy blond nearly jumped overboard.

"Not FUNNY!" Ron huffed strongly.

"YEAH…!" His buddy hopped to his master's defense.

"Oh really?" Yune replied smartly as he came out of a hearty chuckle. "Then why am I laughing?"

"Because you people are sick…" quote the Ron-Man typically, "and - WRONG!"

An utter return to normalcy; Kim nodded comfortably at the fact.

Yes indeed…. -

XXX

Within Robin's spacious apartment, silence grew fat, so swollen Kim wasn't sure if her eardrums had popped or not. "No man is an island to himself"; she had that heard once before, something that her ears had managed to catch out of the stale air in between powernaps back in literature class. Yet everybody around could have fooled her, the team splitting off into their individual selves when they had stepped foot into the apartment.

Yune took to the couch rather uneasily, as anxious as his leg, bouncing hyperactively like he had too much coffee. The back half of his rump he planted on the edge of the cushion as he hunched into himself, elbows pressed against the knees, brown eyes staring blankly at the wall while his hands clenched around his jaw.

Ron was bored, practically fuming it out his wide-open maw, fouling his side of the couch before he let it close. She couldn't help but shudder. His lids hid half of his chocolate eyes. They were down at half-mast, lashes brushing against each other intermittently. He unwittingly exposed that maw again, breathing out a shallow yawn before gravity pulled his skull down upon the jaw once again.

Ron's little buddy followed suit, the buckteeth parallel with the ground as the rodent took in his little puff of air. Cute it was, in that strange sort of way. Why? She didn't know.

Tara had flattened herself against the plush carpet; her dark swathed limbs wide apart like some sort famous sketch. The black battle-dress-uniform a sharp contrast against the cream floor, sharper yet against the girl's fine skin, fine hair. Amazing how she lasted in the sun like that, really. It was Yune's old BDU from what she'd heard in passing; it must have protected her. Hardly any beads of sweat glistening on her smooth crown, not a single fresh scratch sliced into her face. Love conquers all indeed.

And Kim was hunched over her legs in a tailor's position, simply at a loss. She rubbed her palms together - simply to occupy them, the heat at the heels of her thumbs blossoming out only a few centimeters. She might as well have had them gone straight and had them drive their way up her rump; there was nothing to do. Yet her belly continued to churn restlessly, worry a splinter, poking hauntingly at her mind like she had forgotten something!

"But what…?" she asked herself aloud.

"But what, friend?" Robin's voice from out the adjacent hallway, the African herself following it into the main room a second later. "What is troubling you? You should be happy - -we- should be happy! We have won! Drazen is gone!"

"But why doesn't it feel like a victory?" she asked back, rocking gently on her butt.

"Me neither." Tara managed to yank herself upright only to hunch over her incoming legs, an occupied sock slipping into the wrinkly crook of the other leg. "The metal-head's gone, I know - but—! Oh… I don't know anymore! It's like it should be over, but I just have a feeling that it's not!"

"That's because it's never over, T." Yune shook his head. "Keep reaching for that rainbow. Because when you think the worse is behind you, fate comes knocking!"

A pair of his tanned knuckles grinding into the lighter palm was the exclamation point.

"She'll knock hard!" The Asian exclaimed. "So hard it'll be like you've been abducted by aliens! Hell's breaking loose around you, and like a sucker - you won't know what the hell happened!"

"Life in the North Korean Army and The Family's rubbed off on you, Yune." Ron yawned again, folding his arms behind his head confidently. "I wouldn't get too worked up. Don't get me wrong - we'll still keep our guard up! But if something were to arise - which is very likely - we're just going to have to deal with it."

"Ronald is right, you know." Robin nodded.

"And you guys' time with me has rubbed off on you too, it seems." Yune shook his head in the midst of a smirk. "I've hardly seen you act this rational before. Why start now, pray-tell?"

"Heck, I don't know." Ron shrugged back. "I wouldn't know where to start or what to say."

"'Where to start' implies knowledge, Ron." Yune rebutted lightly. "Knowledge is knowledge, Ron, no matter how great or small it is. Besides, what else have we got to do today?"

"Well, I do not—" Robin shrugged needlessly.

"Don't answer." Tara replied. "Rhetorical question."

"Oh." The dark girl blinked. "Right. Of course."

"I'm not exactly sure how to say this." Ron shook his head. "It's kind of hard to put into words."

"It's okay, Ron." She said. "Take your time. Just do your best, and you'll be fine."

"I know." The blond sheepishly nodded. "I don't know what to say, really. It's hard to put into words. But… I guess coming here made me realize something, something that I know has been prodding at me for some time now, though I usually shrug it off - put it off till tomorrow and the sort."

"Yeah?" she asked. "And that is… what?"

"It's like what I told you before." He shrugged. "Just after we escaped Organ Grinder. It was time for me to grow up, Kim, to be a man, to start finding my purpose in life. I couldn't sit by any longer and watch the world pass me by from the sidelines. I didn't want to run away anymore and get in the way.

"Kim, when you were dragged to the Wailing Wall and thrown at the foot, ready for the end, that was the moment it hit me - kind of like the rock that grazed me on the backside while the driver did 60! You simply can't wait for life and purpose to find you. Equally, you can't go out and expect to make it happen. Nope, that's impossible. You'll only fail, return back from your quest jaded and cynical. But still, you at least have to try to."

"But why?" Tara blinked. "What good would that do? If all is for nothing, chasing the wind and all that - then why even bother? It's just a giant paradox!"

"Because if you were to take the initiative at least, Tara, then the good Lord can help you see it through!" Robin said. "We are not perfect, far from it. Though humans were once, Adam and Eve fashioned perfectly by His hands, they have fallen - -we- fell by the exercise of our own free will. He does not expect us to finish the race unscathed, to fight the good fight with out a scratch. Yet as long as we love Him so much to pursue his will, He will help us become what He wishes us to be… what we truly want to be.

"When Shia died, I did not know what to do." Kim was taken aback, batting her eyes in bewilderment. "My heart was practically torn from my chest, ripped into little pieces that no matter how hard I tried, they wouldn't come together again! Honestly I can tell you, my friends, that I was truly lost. Never before had I felt so cold and alone. As I said, I was not sure what I should have done, whether to stay the path or to throw it all away in the name of vengeance. But I realized something, something that I had known since I was a little girl, back in Ethiopia. When you put that gun in my hands, Tara, it drove it home for me."

She blinked again. "What the heck did I miss…?"

"I realized that I am never alone." Robin dismissed her altogether. Surprising yes, but not completely unexpected. "Though the darkness may seem to consume me, I have come too far, seen so many terrible and wonderful things to know that all is not for nothing! Moments after Shia's demise, I felt… peace. Peace of mind, peace of heart - the exact opposite of what one would think! It was like I was back in my home village, back in my father's arms once again. I have never felt such love before. For that fleeting moment I was… content!"

"Robin…." She brushed a hand swiftly through her hair. "What are you saying…?"

"The Lord, Kimberly." Robin smiled brilliantly, eyes sparkling in the natural light with such genuine brilliancy. Despite the girl's words, it had been such a long time since she had seen someone with such clear eyes. "The Lord…."

Her brow kinked. "What…?"

"Are you sure you're Jewish, Robin?" Tara looked at her incredulously. "Seriously?"

"Yes." The dark girl affirmed with a nod. "My mother was Jewish, and so was her mother, and so was her mother, and so on and so forth. Besides, friend, my father has been teaching us Torah, and my brother Talmud since we were old enough to remember. Why do you ask?"

"Because, Robin, of what you said." With a twist at the waist, Tara turned her body up onto her knees. "I'm telling you that had to be one of the most Christian things I have ever heard!"

"Here-here!" Ron nodded.

"Are you really that surprised, Tara?" Yune asked.

"Did you listen to what she just said, Yune?" Tara exclaimed pointedly. "Hell yeah - I'm surprised! Next thing I know, I could be listening to the Grand -Mufti- sing -Havah Negila-!"

Robin laughed heartily, practically keeling over. Ron let out an amused snort.

"That's a sight to see…!" Ron said cynically.

"Truly, that would." Robin unrolled her back. "And very funny too, I might add!"

"It's not surprising really, Tara." Yune said simply. "When you think about it. For Paul said in the book of Romans, 'for there is no difference between the Jew and the Greek: for the same Lord over all is rich unto all that call upon Him.'"

"Where in Romans does it say that?" the blonde asked.

"Tenth chapter, twelfth verse." The Asian nodded back. "Since you asked, after all. Helps if you actually read it, you know."

"Oh." Those two aquamarines blinked. "Right."

From behind her came a sturdy tapping, the typical sound of someone rapping at the front door. All eyes in the apartment were already ahead of Robin, staring past her just as the girl turned for it. At his waist, the Korean unfolded himself, pushing to his feet quickly. Tanned fingers disappeared behind the grip of his Daewoo, and there was subtle scrape when he slipped it free of the holster. She took the hint, taking a stand while Tara simply blinked at her from her seat.

Another knocking staccato came from the door. Robin probably frowned over the flat moan tickling her throat.

"I am coming." The girl called. "I am coming! Patience!"

Robin was at the door when she turned around, a cream limb trained on the door while the deadbolt softly clicked with the back-flick of the lock. The limb dropped several inches to the doorknob, its sheen dulled by the girl's hand, rattling when she put it to work. Hinges smoothly, silently guided the door while Robin pulled it ajar.

"Yes?" The girl asked the owner of that full coif, blonde locks feathery and full of body. "May I help you?"

She should have known.

"Sorry for troubling you, ma'am." The Blondie said. "I was wondering if a mister Yune Bin-Mok was with you?"

"I… am sorry, miss." Robin replied hesitantly like an amateur, the shaking of her head the crowning touch. "But there is no one here by that name."

"Actually there is, Robin." Yune called, and he simply let the pistol drop back into the holster. "It's okay. She practically our boss."

"Damn straight, I am!" Everybody's favorite tanned Barbie called back as she escorted herself inside. Hershel was just as she had remembered, brown business jacket wrapped around a white button-down shirt loosely, hem of the brown skirt an inch above the knees with her feet crammed into a pair of simple pumps. "I run these guys! I run -all- these guys, give them orders, and I expect them to turn in a perfect performance!"

She caught the woman's eyes practically crossing as she let her own take a lap around her head.

"Good to see you too, Ariel." She said cynically. "It's so nice to see that we're so appreciated, especially by the good folks over at Mossad!"

"Kimberly!" Hershel's gasp was short, too short for her taste. "You're alive?"

"What?" she laughed back. "And miss the look on your face? Please…! Even with Drazen's torture, I wouldn't miss that for the world!"

"But…!" The Barbie's eyes boggled, overwhelmed completely! "How…?"

"Well, to put a long story short." She shrugged. "Ron came in, kicked ass, and took names later! And while I'm at it, you guys at Mossad don't have to worry about Organ Grinder, the siege weapon, or Drazen anymore! Mission accomplished, if I do say so myself."

"So Team Possible managed to pull out the impossible after all." Hershel replied seriously... for once, seemingly. "That is great news."

"What's up, Hershel?" She folded her arms loosely. "No retort? No comeback? Man, things must have changed since I've been gone."

"Pretty much, yeah." Hershel swung her arms around her back, keeping them there. "Forgive me if I don't jump for joy. Even though the immediate threat is over, I still got more on my plate than I can digest."

"The Temple Mount?" Yune asked.

"Exactly." She nodded. "It's close to Noon. This day's only halfway through. The trump card may have worked, but that EMP over Armageddon practically knocked the country senseless, even the systems we'd bother to harden. We're pretty much dead in the water."

"EMP?" she asked.

"Of course." A smirk waned on the woman's face. "You honestly didn't think that blast over Megiddo was the work of the supernatural did you?"

"For a minute, we did!" It was Ron's time to jump up. "For a minute, I thought the Messiah had finally returned!"

"Yes!" Robin agreed wholeheartedly, her hand a dark spade on her cream chest. "I too felt my heart leap for joy when I had managed to catch a glimpse of that light! I had thought He had finally arrived, but I was wrong. How dare you lift my hopes up for nothing!"

"Faith really isn't an indulgence of mine." Hershel dismissed with a solemn shake of her head. "In this business, there are no miracles or the supernatural. Just cutting edge technology and the tools we need to fight and win. And I employed one of those tools today, foolishly used it too. Certain parties aren't happy with Israel about that right now, its unauthorized access and use."

Kim felt her heart push its way up her chest. "Do you mean—?"

"Yes." The woman nodded. "Gladius. What you saw back at the valley was Gladius."

Everything went blurry, a small ache pulsing just behind her eyes when they went cross. "How did—?"

"It's a long story and I don't have time for it." Ariel replied. "All you need to know is that your country's in an uproar! I wouldn't be surprised if they were thinking about deploying an occupation force right about now. Don't forget about our 'friendly' neighbors watching us with an eager eye. With essential communications down and a hearty chunk of the ground forces cleaning up Drazen's mess, we're in no shape for any confrontation!"

"Don't lose your cool, Hershel." Yune too folded his arms. "There's still the ceremony today."

"He's right, Ms. Hershel!" Tara finally managed to plant her feet firmly underneath her. "You can use that to your advantage somehow!"

Tanned, spidery fingers let out a snap!

"Oh - of course!" Hershel's eyes lit up. "I spaced the delegates! Damn - how the hell could I forget about that damn ambassador? They've been here for about a few weeks now."

"See?" Tara brightened too. "All's not lost! Take them around the country, show them where that Drazen punk got barbequed, and all will be right with the world!"

Yune nodded. "With Drazen's body in US hands, I'm sure you'll get all the security you need till you get your networks up and running again."

Hershel let her arms flop down at her sides, letting out a hearty laugh. "I wondered why I didn't have you detained, and now I know!"

"Of course!" Ron said. "Who'd else be your voice of reason?"

"Right." The woman shrugged. "This line of work will get to you, on that you can trust me. You'll become so engrossed, so caught up in the drama that even a pin-drop can irk you the wrong way."

"That's how you know when to take a break." Ron replied. "Like I tried to tell Kim, it's okay to say no. Try it with me now! Just repeat after me. -No…! -"

"No…!" It came out like a moan from the little pink rat that aptly poked his head out of the makeshift burrow. "Huh - ha!"

"I should try that more often." The woman nodded.

"So what are you going to do now, friend?" Robin asked. "Go back to your work?"

"I should, really." Hershel shrugged. "I actually came here to engage in a debriefing and a scolding for insubordination, but…. Hell - what's the point anymore? We'll do it later, when things aren't so shaky. On behalf of Mossad and the Israeli government, I thank you for your services. You've done good work, Team Possible. Don't let any -shmuck- or armchair general tell you different, okay?"

"Agreed." Replied everyone - at once! She sucked in a breath; her lips parted habitually, and her favorite word—!

—"JINX! You owe me a soda! All of you!"—

—Came out of the wrong mouth! Ron smiled triumphantly, punching a fist in the air victoriously before he pumped it back down to his side.

"Boo-yah!" Ron shouted proudly. "Ron-Factor's in the house!"

"So I see." She had just caught the woman rolling her eyes while she turned for the door. "Well, you all take care. I'm heading back to the office. Be assured when commercial flights resume that you'll be the first ones out of the country."

"Wait, Ms. Hershel." Robin held out a hand. "What about me?"

"You, Ms. Ata?" Hershel asked. The whites of Robin's eyes grew quickly. "Why looked surprised? You know I'm with Mossad."

"How—?" Robin blinked. "I did not give you my family name!"

"When you're as close to the VSA like you, Ms. Ata, it's my job to know." Hershel said.

"Oh…." Robin stuffed her hands into the pockets of her sweats. "So…?"

"So what?" Hershel asked. "Something you want to ask?"

"Yes." The dark girl nodded. "What must I do for you, for the country?"

"Robin…?" She blinked. "What're you…?"

"You mean about Mr. Bonnet?" the woman said it more like a statement than a question. "About his death, right?"

"Yes, Ms. Hershel." Robin nodded solemnly. "That is exactly what I meant. What must I do to repay my debt to the country?"

"Don't worry about it." Hershel shook her head. "You already have."

"I did?" Robin batted her dark eyes. It was like watching a strobe light, seeing the whites of her eyes flicker with every blink. "How do you mean?"

"Robin Ata." Gentle clacks of falling heels followed the woman as she walked up to the girl. Clasped tanned hands were like mud on the cream shoulders. The blonde mane sank a few inches between the stiff brown shoulders when the woman peered into the girl's eyes. "You went above and beyond the call of duty. When Possible over there was captured, you took these people in when no one else would. You took care of them, put a roof over their heads and gave them a good meal or two. You even put your own life on the line for them! That's probably more than what my superiors would have had done for them. Our people, our country - this damn planet needs more people like you. Israel's proud of you, Robin Ata. So relax and enjoy life."

All was quiet; Robin was speechless. A pregnant silence filled the room between them while Robin drank in what the woman had said. Hershel being nice; where was a camera when you needed it?

"Besides," those stiff brown shoulders perked briefly, "the police have their hands full at the moment. And with a little disinformation from me, they'll never put two-and-two together. I'll guarantee it."

"I do not know what to say." Robin said softly. "Thank you ever so much."

"You are welcome, Ms. Ata." Hershel nodded. "Israel's honored to have you as a citizen. And before you ask, you guys, I'll see what I can do about your Webmaster. I have some contacts within the Department of Justice, though it takes a damn crane to pull those strings."

"Thanks, Hershel." She smiled warmly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." The woman straightened herself before she strolled for the door. "And don't worry about what you've procured. I send someone later to pick them up. Just have them ready."

The knob rattled, the door swung open, and Hershel soon became another shape through the passageway. The clicks of heels were the only clue to her presence, a steady decrescendo before they were overwhelmed completely, lost in the breeze. Despite the regional instability, the moving air was quite relaxing. It didn't care. So soft it was on her skin, running briskly through her hair. Robin's tight ponytail quivered too in the wind before she had the sensibility to shut the door.

"Well…." Yune's tanned brow was perked when she turned around. "What now?"

"I don't know." Tara shrugged back. "Eat? I guess we could play 'Stratagories' or something."

"'Stratagories'?"" Robin blinked.

"Heck yeah!" the boy pumped his fist in the air. "'Stratagories'! The best game ever made! Boo-yah!"

Kim sighed dismissively, throwing her hands into the air. Déjà vu, it surely was: Florida all over again.

"I call the race car."

XXX

Eli was surprised.

He was alive! The powers that be had shown mercy on him, shielding him and another from the consuming flames, lapping hungrily for them. Half of the control room had collapsed, a cascade of sheet metal, pipes, and wire falling down upon the Major's battered chair like rocks. He and another had tumbled back into the right side - the correct side, it was. The rather robust pile of debris had shielded them from the fire!

All but one, that is; that poor unlucky soul had caught the brunt of it, he was sure. The imploding glass must have slapped him senseless while the fire consumed him, chewing him up with hot, ragged teeth before it spat out the charred pulp. That scream! It was still ringing in his ears, so hauntingly, so -painfully-! The poor guy, he was so young, so ready to meet his destiny when they stormed that stolen rock. But now that could never be.

So gross…. -

He couldn't look at that crisp, blackened pile for long when they had blasted through the rubble. The guy truly, literally was but a shadow of his former self.

It was times like these that showed you who your friends, your comrades really were. Most of the government forces had long since left with the rest of the VSA, hand in handcuffs, most certainly. Lots of guns, TAR-21s were strewn about, littering the ground; the Victims' Separatist Army had simply dropped them. Their hands had stretched for the clouds just like The Family after old man Drazen got his bucket kicked. Barely a sound of discord had siphoned through the rubble.

Those traitors! He'd show them! No one deserts the VSA without a mark to show for it! A scar, it would be, infused with such power to remind them that their deceit, their betrayal would never be lived down! Oh, it would be delicious!

"What's going on, Eli?" the other survivor asked. "What can you see?"

"Nothing." His glove went silky smooth through his slicked back hair. "There's nothing. Just a truckload of weapons sitting on the ground, and probably a convoy's worth of empty hummers behind us. There was a four-man team of IDF on guard duty, but I took care of them. This man has still got it, I tell you. I took the liberty of hiding the bodies as well, just to be safe."

"I don't think you had to do that, Eli." Plodding footfalls behind him were a crescendo. "But I guess it's unavoidable."

"Indeed." He nodded. "We would've ended up like this charred pile!"

"What about the package?" the other man asked. "Did we lose that in the explosion?"

"No, I don't think so." He replied. "I remember seeing it by the back wall shortly after the explosion. It should be there if you hadn't moved it."

"Good." The man replied. "It should be a nice present for our hosts. Can't wait to see the looks on their faces when we practically hand them back their own bomb. A shame they won't know about it till later. -Way- later that is! And by then it'll be too late!"

"You're serious about going through with the plan?" He asked.

"Hell!" the man replied. "We've come too far to turn back now. The Major's dead, the body's too burnt for anybody to tell the difference. That should keep the authorities happy till an autopsy, but that won't be for a while. I even have his gun right here!"

"Of course you do—"

From the steel floor came a loud -BANG- and the following screech scratched his ears before something touched his boot. A heavy something, it was, just by the way it solidly pushed into his foot. An UZI occupied the floor at his foot, a full scale UZI at that, the fore-grip was pressed against his thick sole. It made slow, lopsided circles quite loudly on the floor when he kicked it by the cooked heap.

"Ah… here's that little gizmo!" the survivor exclaimed with a huff. "In the assault pack, just like I remember it. Come on, 2nd Lieutenant. We've got ourselves a little show to catch!"

"You got it."

There was a firm, stern drone growling from behind him.

"Forgetting something?" the guy asked.

"My apologies…." He sighed. "Major Drazen."

"And don't you forget it!"


	43. Chapter 43

(For the next few weeks or so, updates shall come early as Sunday or even Saturday. I would update on Mondays except that my job takes me where computer access is limited. Till next time, enjoy this entry.

(-Godhand's Number-)

43

The gang couldn't play Stratagories after all, even if they wanted to - which they most certainly did! Dear old Robin had never heard of the game, let alone have a copy of the game itself. So they were reduced to playing chess with the girl's stone chess set she'd gotten from Shia as a Chanukah present. Marble it was, exhumed from the mines far south of the States' invisible border, or so Tara heard. The stone was creamy, every piece polished to an incandescent sheen.

Beautiful yes, yet it was practically useless to all but a couple of people. Yune and Robin were going at it tooth and nail, matching each other move for move, each side utterly refusing to give in. Poker faces quickly dropped when both had been removed of half their pieces, brows furrowing irritably when both had been removed of the queens. It wasn't long till the game had boiled down to an arduous stalemate, Robin's lone king against Yune's king and last rook.

Hours would have passed if Rufus declared the battle over, hopping on the checkered slab and reaching his paws for the ceiling.

"Huh - game over!" he squeaked.

"Yes, I know." Yune yawned. "It would've been over sooner if she'd just give up."

"Give in?" Robin blinked. "Me? Ha! You are sorely mistaken, Yune, but I simply wished to spare you a humiliating defeat!"

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Rob—"

A foot gave the man's shin a firm tap. She wasn't going to say whom.

"OW!" He yelped. "The hell—?"

"Be nice, Yune." She smirked.

"What're you talking about?" his look perplexed when he gave her one. "I was nice - for a second! I wanted to let her off easy, but she wouldn't have it! She kept pushing so I pushed back! There's nothing wrong with that!"

"Of course!" she shrugged. "You're the man. You have to be so -strong- and so -tough-! But tell me, Mr. Man. Do you feel so big and so strong by pounding on your poor, helpless hostess?"

"Not really." He shrugged back as he let his fingers take a walk on the game board. Robin furrowed her brow when he made her king plant his crown on the board, just by a simple flick. "But it couldn't hurt."

"I must ask you not to be so harsh with these pieces." Robin returned her king to his feet. "They are fragile, and I do not know where I can procure another should one of them break."

"My bad, Rob." He said. "But it wouldn't have happened if you just gave up!"

"Never!" the girl exclaimed back. "You may tear out my stomach, you may drive the sword through my body - but I shall never surrender!"

"Spoken like a true patriot!" the Asian smirked.

Robin turned her attention to her fallen comrades, giving them a second chance when she returned them correctly to the board.

"Can you blame me?" Robin asked.

"Nope." Yune gave new life to his own soldiers when he placed them back on the checkered field. "Can't say that I do."

"Well what do you wish to do now, my friends?" the girl asked. "Is anyone here in favor of a game with me?"

"No thanks." She declined with a shake of the head. "I wasn't any good at strategy games."

"I know." Her man nodded, a little too deeply at that. "You'll never win if you try to smash through like a barbarian—!"

Her toe found his foreleg again.

"Hey—!" he couldn't finish.

"Is for horses, Yune." She was far ahead of him.

"You got to stop hitting me…." he moaned weakly.

"Oh - take it like a man, you big baby!" her smile was wide. "How're you going to be a good role model for the kids if you can't take a little kick, hmm…?"

Pieces clattered on the game board. Robin made like a bug, dark eyes halfway out her skull while a beautifully crafted rook was nothing but a mere pebble in her hand.

"You are…?" Robin was baffled. "You are -pregnant-, Tara?"

All heads whipped around, their eyes planted firmly on her. She could feel pieces of herself being plucked away by the incredulous yet scrupulous stares. The blood rushed to her face, to her ears, feeling hotter by the second. Her eyes too began to cross, a subtle pain just behind them right after they came out of a blink.

"WHAT?" She barked. "I NEVER SAID THAT!"

"But you had just—!"

"Oh - for the love of!" her palm met her forehead, the bridge of her nose, her lips, and her chin before it slapped her leg. "It's—! I didn't mean—!"

"We know, Tara." She felt her man's firm hand take her own into his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Calm down. You're going to give yourself a heart attack, one of these days."

"He's right, Tara." Kimberly agreed from her seat at the couch, leaning against her towheaded beau. It was true; she and Ron really were together. Separation anxiety was useful after all. "Just pump the brakes."

"Pump?" she blinked. "What're you talking about? Sadie has ABS, last I checked."

"Coming from you and that junk-heap truck of yours, T?" Kim put a kink in her brow. "You might as well."

"Oh." She batted her eyes. "Right… I think."

"Why do you get so worked up anyway, Tara?" Ron asked. "Sure your dad works in the car business, but you're pretty well off. You've practically won! Stop screaming all the time!"

"Not my fault people like to rattle my chains." She took her hand back, folded her arms petulantly. "For the last time, I'm telling you, I'm AUSTRIAN - not GERMAN!"

"Don't get her heritage confused with those Nazis now…!" Yune noted, pointing it out with a quick wave of the finger.

"Damn straight!" she nodded.

"Dude!" Ron threw up his hands. "I'm part Russian, but everyone thinks I'm Swedish. Do I give a damn? Hell no, I don't! I let it slip right off my back, and I get the hell on with my life!"

"I suggest you do the same, T." Yune said. "I'm not going to marry a bitter old woman, you know."

A sigh. "I know…."

"Good." Another smirk cut across his stone face. "Now if you please, go and grab us some Heinekens, -Deutsche-!"

His head jostled, the black mat shifting back a tick when her palm met the back of his skull.

"Whatever you say, dearest." She couldn't help but shoot him a sly smirk of her own. "Whatever you say…."

"As much as we like to see the dyad in action," Kim said musingly, "I'd like to know what's going on in town."

"Good luck on that." Yune replied. "After that little Iron Butterfly light show, the whole country's practically on a stand-still. Besides, my little call to the mayor practically put Jerusalem under lockdown. One seemingly wrong move, and you're on the wrong side of a police line-up."

"Was that really the right move?" Ron protested uselessly. "We saved the country! Sure, the higher-ups want to celebrate by giving away the most coveted piece of real estate, but can't we at least be there to see it happen?"

"Why on earth would you want to?" Robin asked. "Even without Yune's call, I have a feeling that the ceremony would turnout very few Jews. It is heartbreaking; the very stones cry out! Would we have won the Temple Mount - let alone 1967 to know the descendants would simply give it up? I do not know about you, but I feel very strongly that they would not have even bothered."

"Why'd they bother then?" Kim asked. "Why not turn the weapons on themselves, live Masada all over again?"

"Interesting you mention Masada, friend." Robin's smirk was weak. "Built by Herod in the first century BC, and it was the last stand of the Zealots' 'Great Revolt'. It is so very important to the Israeli mentality, where the fight for Israel and the Jewish people soared to such heights that the people would rather die than surrender to the encroaching Roman hordes. Atop that venerated mountain, I am certain I will take the oath my friends-in-arms will take alongside me. 'Masada shall not fall again.' I believe this. I -believe- this!

"1948, 1967, and the other conflicts… the brave men and women who fought in those conflicts. Though the official oath certainly came about in a time of relative peace, I am certain that those very soldiers believed in it too. They have had to believe it, believe in what they were doing!"

"But why, Robin?" Tara asked. "Why…?"

"A future…!" Yune folded his arms confidently. "Not for the here and now, but a future! A future worth seeing, I'm sure, one worth living in. Though they were drafted, I'm sure deep down they believe it too - duly true if they are career soldiers, devoting their skills to that purpose."

"Yes, my friend." Robin nodded. "You are correct! Sadly, ideals can only get you so far in today's materialistic world. Many have lost sight, it seems, corrupted by the here and now. They are so far gone that they will cater to any demand for simple sheet of legal paper, a mere promise! Politics rule the day, half-truths and political correctness cause great rifts among the nation.

"Certainly that evil Simeon is finally gone, but the threat is still very much alive. There is an overabundance of evil among us. We will drown in the toxic overflow, and the state of Israel with it. The endgame itself; we will not go out with a nuclear bang, but a crippling whimper."

"Tragic…." The tips of her fingers rubbed thoughtfully at her lips.

"Too true." Ron nodded heartily. "Hopefully, it won't come to that, but after our time here…. Man, I don't know what to believe anymore."

"Straight and narrow, my friend." She smiled. "Adhere to Torah, Talmud and Tanach. Do that and the good Lord shall see you through. Of that, I am certain."

"But where does that leave us?" Kim asked honestly. "What're we going to do?"

"I do not know." Robin slight shrug was lost as the girl pushed away from the table. "But I simply cannot stand by and watch the holy mountain be ripped away from us."

"What're you—?"

"I am going to the ceremony." The dark girl sniffed. "And perhaps pray a little. Do not try to stop me, for my sake at least!"

"I understand." Yune nodded, too pushing away from the table. "That's why I'm coming with you."

"You serious?" She asked.

"Of course I am, Tara." He nodded back. "During our time here, she's done so much for us. I think it's time we do something for her, even if it's minimal."

"I guess so." Her brow perked. "And trying to talk you out of it is wasted breath, so I'm coming with!"

"We're all coming with." Kim pushed herself free of the couch... only to lean gingerly against her man. A warm sight, and it was along time coming. "Right, Ronnie?"

"You got it, KP." The blond nodded back. "Count me in."

"We're all here for you, Robin." She smiled warmly, yanking that wonderful girl into a bear hug. "Don't forget it!"

"Oh - KAY!" The dark girl struggled against her. She wasn't sure if she was hacking or laughing, breathing haggardly. "My… how STRONG you are—!"

Yune's smirk was as smug as ever.

"Now you know how I feel…." He said.

"Shut it, or you're going to have some more ribs break on you!" she retorted.

"Whatever you say, my German princess—!"

"Yune—!" Robin may have escaped her hot grasp, but she couldn't finish.

"You're Austrian - not German…." The gang did it for her in a tired, jaded moan. "We -know-…!"

"Damn straight!" she nodded proudly. "And don't you forget it!"

XXX

With the major offensives and operations over, battles they had simply put behind them, a change in wardrobe was in order. The gang had taken back to their civvies quite easily while Robin simply had stuck with her cream colored sweats. Time was against her, Yune guessed, not the time to get prim and proper. The last time the deed was in Israel's name, and by God, that girl was going to see it.

He'd guarantee it!

The small crowds had pooled on the steps that led to the sacred plateau itself, the stairwell long and very wide, even half of it covered not by the mob. Most of them had been clustered at the summit, swarming around a pair of podiums. Soldiers kept watch attentively, their M16s held firm in their gloves yet trained simply down to the ground. But they weren't soldiers of the Israeli military. Uniforms with the desert print and the woodland green load-bearing vests were a dead giveaway.

"Americans." He let his binoculars drop from his sight, forgotten yet its solid tapping against his sternum reminded him all too well. "Just like I thought."

"That is what they look like?" Robin asked. The thin sling became a garrote, yanking at his neck when a dark hand took the scopes off his chest. "They look European to me."

"No European would be caught with those rifles, I assure you." He gently took back his scopes. "The handguns maybe. With modern technology on the rise, its hard to keep track anymore."

"I guess." The girl shrugged. "At first I mistook them for Israeli, but they rarely patrol in camouflage."

"True." He nodded.

"Americans…?" Ron steps were short as he parked himself right next to him. The sling scratched at this throat again when a squared hand took up the binoculars. "Hey… you're right! What're they doing over here? Shouldn't they be pulling guard duty back at Tel Aviv?"

"They're probably -from- Tel Aviv, Ron." He relieved himself of the tightness in his throat when he relinquished the sling altogether, giving that lingering, tight line a rub with a finger. "Pulling guard duty here, ensuring Palestine's acquisition of the mount's a smooth one. I'm sure they have police back-up too."

"So this is Mount Mariah, eh?" Kim's light steps were quick and short, her voice loud as she squeezed between him and Ronald. How appropriate; he stole a glance. They were hand in hand, the set of thicker, squared fingers lacing with the petite, finer one. "This is where all the 'peace' and 'love' in the world's circling around? Funny, I thought it'd be a smoking crater by now."

"Judaism, Christianity, and Islam." Robin replied. "Not so much the latter, since it is only the reputed third holiest site, and the only 'proof' is an obscure verse in the Koran. Though everyone knows that the furthest mosque, '-Al-Aqsa-', is Medina, not Jerusalem. But do not tell them that."

"Why's that?" Kim asked.

"Because you'll find yourself catching quite a view from a lamppost." Ron finished. "Trust me, it's not a pretty sight. Believe me…."

"Don't worry, Ronnie." Kim cooed. "I do."

"Good."

"Yune?" his girl asked, promptly slipping herself between Robin and himself. Gentle warmth flushed through his arm, tingling in his chest when he felt her fingers interlock with his. She leaned on his shoulder, into him. Touching, though her head felt like a seven-pound rock. "What're you thinking about?"

"Nothing really." His lips pushed through her hair, giving her scalp a quick peck. "How 'bout you, T?"

A sigh came from beneath that puffy, blonde mat. Blood pumped its way through his shoulder again when she took back her head. The insoles of her makeshift clogs smacked against her heels when she turned squarely for him, placing her arms around his neck. They were cold to the touch, from her wrists her tank's spaghetti straps on her shoulders. Must have been the breeze.

"Oh… I don't know, Yune." She sighed again. "Maybe it's just me, but I can't help but feel we lost somehow. I know Drazen's dead and all, his army's disbanded, thrown to the wind like that Family bunch, but still…. Coming here, watching this place being taken from Robin and her friends and family. It feels like all's for nothing. We chased the wind this whole time!"

"I know how you feel, T." he pressed his lips against her light crown, pressing her body against his own. "But we were soldiers in this fight. It's not our place to question how or why. That's the historians' job. All we can do now is just sit and wait, and hope that the higher-ups will wake up sooner than later."

"I guess you're right." Her head shifted up and down against his chest before she pushed away. "We're here for Robin, after all. So… let's -be here-!"

"You already are, friends." The dark girl replied. "And thank you."

"You don't call us friends for nothing, Robin." Tara turned her head for her. "Remember that."

"Do not worry, Tara." Rob said. "I will not."

"Good." Her arms slipped off his body when she stood upright. "Then we're settled."

"Indeed."

The armed men at the summit went straight, stiffer than a faggot of two-by-fours. Their assault rifles swept backwardly behind them, their legs pressed together. Their right arms swept up from their sides, bending at the crook while the naked tips of their gloved fingers touched the side of their brows.

The ceremony had begun.

Three men in suits strolled up to the front of the summit, head and shoulders above the encroaching throng. Two of them took to a podium while the third simply stood between the two. The Americans flanking the suits dropped the salute at the center man's call, pushing their tanned boots shoulder length apart, their hands placed squarely in the small of their backs.

The crowds' front line scurried about, taking their positions, training their cameras' absorbing black eyes onto the podiums. Certainly the natives and the local news would miss out, their equipment fried by the blast over the valley. That didn't mean the world media had to miss out. Whatever had become dead weight was simply tossed away, speedily replaced, and bandwidth was linked to servers in the US, given the utter monopoly on the satellite industry.

The planet would be treated to a show after all. Goody, goody…!

The center suit was a rather portly man, his belly as wide as his thin shoulders, shifting side to side while he bobbed for the lone microphone stand like a penguin. The sun reflected off his smooth skull, shining nicely on the slick skin. Pudgy fingers handled the stand with kid hands, nearly dropping the microphone altogether. But those same fingers easily put those coke-bottle lenses back up his nose with a push to the thick bridge.

"Thank you, ladies and gentleman, for braving whatever insecurities you all may have just to be here today." The baldy greeted. "I am Vespasian Titus, ambassador to Israel and the Palestinian Authority. The President, Vice President could not make it today for this historic event, not even the Secretary of State. No, they all have been diverted to the Victims' Separatist Army, to their unconditional surrender following the swift death of their commander. Yes, people of the great global village; the threat is gone: Uzziel Lichtenfeld Drazen is finally dead!"

The crowd became a bi-polar choir in an instant. A roar of applause stormed through the masses, cheers, shouts, whistles, and claps! All of it blended together homogeneously, pounding at his eardrums like they were bongos. They forced his hand, his fingers to his ears, slipping them in till they could go no more. Still that choir sang in joyous discord, slipping past his finger as though it was not even there! He was certain he and the gang would go deaf when that man held up an UZI sub-machinegun triumphantly like a trophy.

"Yes, people." The pudgy man smiled. The crowd had managed to stifle itself. "The proof right here, forged by the very fire that did the man in. I have seen his body myself, charred beyond all recognition. The only clue to the corpse's identity is this gun. The body has been placed into the custody of the police, and it's probably at the appropriate facility as I speak. We will have to wait for a DNA test, but I can say with confidence that his identity will confirm our suspicions!"

The mass gave the portly man another shout of applause. A few even threw their headdresses into the air as though it were graduation day.

"What's with this guy?" Ron demanded. "He sounds as bad as the PA!"

"I agree with Ronald." Robin followed. "As delighted as the territories should be, this speech is completely unfitting of an Ambassador - let alone one from the United States! They say they are the neutral party, but the actions of their envoys speak louder than any of their prepared words!"

"That's the PC crowd for you, Rob." He nodded. "Living on the right side - -left- side, rather, of double-standards where all rules apply except to them."

"Yeah." His girl agreed. "I try to hear both sides out, but this is inappropriate! Not only does it show that he's biased and crass, but it also shows he just plain stupid. It's like there's nothing wrong with being neutral, but since -he's- an ambassador, he can do whatever he wants or say anything he wants! With jack-offs like him, no wonder we get a bad rap around the globe!"

"Heard that!" Ron affirmed.

"Come on, guys." Kim pressed gently. She certainly had a knack for being Satan's advocate, alright. "Give him a break. We've all been through a lot here. I'm sure the public can forgive him if he embellishes just a little bit."

"I doubt it seriously, KP." Ron replied. "If there's anything the people like to claw at more, it's a pompous loudmouth. Just look at Hollywood! That's a prime example!"

"He's a politician, Ron." Kim argued. "That's practically his job description!"

"Still isn't an excuse, Kimberly." He pressed. "Just because you can doesn't mean you should."

"Come on, now." The auburn sighed. "Am I the only one in the team that thinks differently?"

The team promptly gave Kimberly the answer, rather bluntly, just like all the other good answers life had to offer.

"Yes!" they all exclaimed.

"Super…!" the auburn groaned. "Your loss then."

"So be it!" They all replied.

"Fine!" two thin limbs flailed up in the air to his left, only to drop back down with a slap a moment later. "God…!"

It was Tara's turn to take her shot. "Silly little Democrat—!"

"Shut up, Tara!" the auburn shot back.

"Yes!" the ambassador continued despite the racket of an ovation. Thankfully to Yune's ears, the very audible consent began to drop, gradually overwhelmed by the breeze. "This whole region shares your joy. The Major is gone, and his infamous memory shall be forever desecrated as we ensue in the very act he himself had nearly triggered World War Three to prevent!"

"No wonder Hershel's always cynical." His girl noted softly. "This guy's a pig!"

"Despite the VSA and the threats of assassination and overthrow," the ambASSador continued, "Prime Minister Irit and Chairman Abd-al-Latif have made it here today, thanks to the cooperation of the Palestinian Authority and the Israeli government. The Major maybe no more, but it is necessary that we all continue to work together to protect the people, whether Muslim or Jew, Palestinian or Israeli, and ensure that another 'heretic' such as Drazen never surfaces again! I am certain that this ceremony today is but a single step to achieve that goal.

"Since the passing of the former chairman, Israel has generously taken the first step to recognize the Palestinians as a nation and as a viable state by handing over ownership of this sacred piece of land. The world looks on favorably at the Israeli government, despite hardliners and hawks in the Knesset and the cabinet, despite religious fanatics in the populace and settlements. This ceremony today is a firm step towards true peace in the Middle East!"

"As well as makes a nice mark on your bid for President!" Ron sneered. "It's Oslo all over again, I'm telling you!"

"Calm down, Ronnie." The auburn said gently.

"It will start here!" the piggy proudly exclaimed, holding a piece of paper carefully, by the edges as though God had been infused all His power into those tiny typed letters. "This document describes this very step. The signing of this document will be that very step! And the countries of this great global village will help these two countries every step of the way! God bless Palestine, may He bless Israel, and may God truly bless the world! Thank you very much!"

A man could eat headcheese if one was to cook it right, and boy did Mr. Titus (Vespasian Titus; how appropriate)! The pig practically spat it out, and the crowd ate it up, practically demanding seconds with their hasty hoots and hollers. Not he! He spat it out with a firm grunt, like the poison it was. The team followed suit. Ron with an ill groan, his girl with a sigh, Robin with a sober shake of the head, and Kim… well - Kim was a -special- girl, after all…!

"What a blowhard…!" Ron was exasperated. Either by the speech or how the Prime Minister bought into it, he didn't know. Then again, a lie will become a form of 'truth' if it is repeated enough.

"More like a mind-job, if you ask me." Tara said astutely. "He doesn't care what happens to this country or its people! Just as long as he looks good doing it!"

"Such always has been the 'peace process'." Robin said. "The west calls it peace while the Palestinians mold very processes into part of their -phases-! But this man, Chairman Abd-al-Latif, he is different. He is actually a whole lot better than the man the PA was going to pick, Abbas or something of that nature. I have done my readings and my research to know that is true."

"Whatever happens, let's just hope that it doesn't go badly." He said grimly.

"You and I both, my friend." Robin agreed. "You and I both…!"

XXX

"Little fishes come and see my hook…!" Uzi smirked, taking himself to a squeaky knee.

Everything was set. Eli was in place, armed and ready. Thanks to him, of course, reluctantly handling the security detail with trained ease, without a shot of protest. The fat baldy had to wait; his security came a little too prepared. It wouldn't matter in a moment. The baldy, Mr. -Putz-, his target, and all the mindless masses they control. They'll all die the split second the burning match tapped the oily pavement.

And by some fluke the gasoline and the kerosene couldn't do them in, the little present pressed against his back would.

He let gravity pull his gaze down upon the sacred plateau. The brainless crowd eagerly caught the utter -dreck- the bald pig scooped out of his feeding troth, sugarcoating it, pitching it to them in flashy words and worthless ideals. They gobbled it down like candy, inhaling it till they choked.

But the 2nd lieutenant would put a stop to that. Oh yes, he would! He had just carted the last, troublesome policeman off to his final resting place, in the blackest shade the terrain could offer. He pressed that lean, stringy frame of his against the proper wall, sliding himself closer to the target. At least the Americans were stupid enough to leave its backside wide open for a strike—!

"Yes!" he smiled the best he could.

The speech had finished; the pig had wobbled itself back from the center mike as his thick, pudgy hooves set down a slip of paper in front of the -putz-. Putz's shoulder twitched, his arm shifted a bit closer to that paper. A golden glint shined from the man, just above his gnarled hand - smack dab above that paper!

Placing his feet down carefully upon that accursed onion, he shot himself up tall, all for the masses to see!

It was time!

XXX

The speech had already finished. Kim saw the shiny appointments of the Prime Minister's pen glisten in the sunlight like gold while it dove for the document. She could just about see the bottom fourth of it disappear behind the looming trim - and a dark smudge appeared, cattycorner to her, atop the Dome of the Rock. It was strange. A shadow doesn't flap like that, rippling with the breeze like the fabric of a flag.

The clammy touch of dread crawling across her sides drove it home all to well.

"Bravo, Cossack!" the figure called out to them, and the suits turned their heads aptly.

"Who the—?" the Ambassador said, nearly capsizing when he turned around.

"Admirable speech, my friend!" the rippling shadow finished for him. "A little too pompous for my tastes, though! Gift of the silver tongue, I suppose. It does mark a good officer, you know. And of a self absorbed fraud! Oinkers like you're too in love with the sound of your squeals to speak the truth!"

"Who the hell are you?" the bald man demanded with a stomp.

His well-armed security took point in a formation reminiscent of a British Square, training their assault rifles on the dark blur. Some of the camera crews followed suit, shifting those endless, empty stares onto the gold dome.

"Identify yourself!" the pudgy man demanded again. "Say it now and my men won't shoot you!"

"Who am I?" the blur called back. "Oh… I don't know. Let's just say I'm a ghost, coming back to haunt these dirty - rotten - inbred - filth!"

Dread's clammy touch hugged her like a bear. Fear was a sauce, smothering her brain thickly when her eyes caught a hint of olive in the flapping black. Pain pierced into her head, into the back of her brain like the sharp glare shimmering atop that shifting blackness.

"The FUCK, MAN!" Ron eyes aptly crossed in sheer bewilderment.

"No…!" she shook her head incredulously… furiously… violently! "It can't be - it JUST CAN'T!"

"Who am I, you ask?" the flapping, shiny blackness called out. "Why I'm YOU! I'm your shadow! I'm the very thing that keeps you awake at night, residing in the dark corner of your mind! I'm the culmination of the very hatred festering in this country - the Grim Reaper, the destroyer - the -Dajjal-! But you should know me by now! I go by another name, one this whole world should know by now! Who am I?"

"I should've known!" Yune growled.

"UZZIEL LICHTENFELD DRAZEN!" the blur shouted proudly back. "FUCKERS - I'M NOT FINISHED YET!"


	44. Chapter 44

(After quitting my job due to lack of insurance and abundance of certain... 'activities' on the job, I'm back to my original update slot thankfully. And as usual, thank you to all those who took the time to read, review, and offer suggestions for future works.

(While writers like Frederick Aloysius like to play itJames Bond, I like to play it Kojima!

(Godhand's Number)

44

Whether Drazen had completely lost it or not, Kim could not tell nor did she care that much. Solomon Rex was trashed beyond repair; his army abandoned him. Though the coveted mount was expansive, he had no place to run. The Americans closed in on him, their rifles trained on the rippling figure while their bent legs shifted them closer. Out manned and out gunned, the metal head would be in for a hell of a fight.

"This'll be short!" Tara folded her arms haughtily, arrogantly.

"No…." Yune's smooth, black mat shook disdainfully. "It won't. I just know it."

She agreed with a nod.

"Is it simply myself," Robin asked rhetorically, "or does Mount Mariah seem a little more -vacant- than it was half an hour ago?"

"Yeah…!" Ron put a hand to his brow, flattened, parallel to the ground. "What happened to the police? I'm sure I saw some patrolling up there—!"

An olive blur dashed out from nowhere! Kim got her answer when it made like a bee, -lining- hurriedly for the suit at the far right - the Chairman! The two other suits whipped around startlingly as the blur smeared past them, right in front of them! The Chairman barely had the time to lift up his hands defensively, but the olive smudge was already behind the poor man. It seized him by the neck, the Chairman rightly clawed back at the appendage - the branch…!

"Stick Man!" she hissed like a sidewinder.

The Americans pulled a 180, the rounds rattling in the assault weapons quite loudly as they retrained them on Drazen's crony. A desert printed limb shot out of the armed group, black glove fingers clenched in a fist for all to see. The soldiers aptly stopped in their edgy tracks while the guns stared coldly at the stick man while he dragged his next victim away.

"Nobody move!" Drazen called out from the safety of his coveted perch. "No one has to die needlessly… yet! Hit it, Eli!"

—WHOOMPH!

Her ears had barely caught the whispering growl before it exploded in a loud -POOF-! Fire leapt out from nowhere at the Major's command. The soldiers were caught off-guard, rifles' cold stares going hot, clattering on the burning ground while their handlers dove for cover! Fiery tongues were greedy for air as they lapped for the sky, licking the foul soles of the Devil's boots clean seemingly from her viewpoint.

"Man, I love a good barbeque!" Drazen laughed. "Don't you, 2nd lieutenant?"

"I do fancy a good roast myself, Sir." The stick man said. "Think about it makes me rather famished. If only Tank Man were still with us…."

"I know." The ass sighed too. "Let's dedicate this to him, shall we?"

"If that's what you want, Sir." Eli agreed. "If you want."

The rippling blur was no more, dropping off the golden dome like a rock, disappearing behind the bright wall of flames. She could have sworn she heard a door open and then close but she couldn't be certain. The crackling fire made it impossible, not to mention the breeze that had just firmly pressed the fabric of her shirt against her back.

"Uzi's going to kill the Chairman!" Robin practically jumped out of her skin. "What are we going to do?"

"Do what we always do!" Ron shouted back. "Isn't that right, KP?"

"That's right, Ron." She nodded firmly. "We're taking him down - for good!"

"But…?" Tara said. "Didn't you say that last time?"

"Not now, T." Yune shook his head. "Damn it! Of all days to forget my gun!"

"Forget about it!" Tara replied. "We still got Sadie and the supplies! We'll be fine."

Kim assured herself with a nod before she rushed the panicked crowd, squeezing, bobbing, and weaving through the hasty masses. It was like swimming upstream through a whitewater rapid, one stroke forward and two strokes back. Thanks to Yune, the turnout was low and she was already between the podiums when the camera crews acknowledged retreat.

"KIM!" Ronnie called for her. It was hard to hear with the flames crackling in her ear. "WHAT'RE YOU DOING?"

"My JOB!" she hollered back.

Taking in a fresh breath, the flames seemed to part from her, flaring away from her pink flares even when she let it out in the midst of her jump. Her white sneakers had a stroke of shade on them when they touched the ground, lingering on the canvas though she was a foot away from the blaze.

"Aw man…!" she moaned. "Club Banana too!"

A sudden, lengthy blackness caught her eye, lingering on the ground just as the shade on her shoes. It was an assault rifle, a soldier's M16A2, the only one that didn't get caught in the fires as far as she could see. It was a sign! She heeded it wisely when she scooped up the assault weapon. Bullets rattled like Tic-Tacs when she popped out the magazine, fully loaded of course. Thirty primers would have mooned her if it weren't for the thin spine of black steel.

Fate shined down upon her favorably, and she slipped her shoulder through the tactical sling. She replaced the magazine, promptly yanking the charging handle. The bolt drew back vacantly before it slammed back home, taking a fresh .223 Remington with it. All bets were off, she nodded at that when she thumbed the safety catch off.

If Drazen and the stick man didn't kill her, the Palestinians sure as heck would.

"You want to play, Uzi?" she frowned while she hopped through the next blaze. "Ha - let's play!"

XXX

This is what the end looked like. The accursed golden onion of the rock was a mystery no more. One of the pinnacles of dirty - rotten - inbred - filth culture revealed itself to him when he parted those double doors. It was beautiful in its own right. Islamic art dappled on the walls, on the spacious roof, stitched on the carpet, all of it encroaching on a large boulder that was fenced in. Fleetingly, -reputedly- it was stood upon by the 'holiest' of feet.

"What?" Uzi blinked needlessly. "No rocket launchers, no bombs, not even a -Pistolet Makarova-?"

"Don't get so down, Major." Eli said as he and the Jericho kept the Chairman at bay. "I'm sure they're here somewhere. Isn't that right, Mr. Chairman?"

"I do not know what you are talking about!" tan skin blossomed out trough the receding salt-and-pepper fur, right at the cap of the menace's skull. He couldn't really see if the brush had died out completely on the back of the -putz's- head, since Eli duly made sure the dog kept its meshed paws planted right there. "This is the Dome of the Rock - the -Haram al-Sharif-! Should we shame ourselves by stashing weapons close to the Noble Rock? I would certainly hope not!"

"I don't believe you." He smirked. "It's permissible to lie to an infidel, if I remember it right. And what a better 'infidel' around here than me? Isn't that right Eli?"

"That's gospel, Major." The good 2nd lieutenant replied heartily.

"Do not confuse me with uniformed fools like Al-Aqsa Martyrs and HAMAS!" The balding mongrel protested. "I am not a terrorist! I am quite possibly the only man in the Authority to recognize Israel as a viable state, unlike my delirious predecessor and competitor! The -intifada- has gotten the Palestinians - my people - nowhere. They are on the verge of destruction it they surely were to keep this up, the weak government collapsing under its own weight. Their home countries would refuse them again! My people would be up the creek with nowhere to come ashore!"

Those dark brown eyes glistened in the warm, golden light. Some of that glisten dripped from those eyes, onto those tired, wrinkled eyelids, rolling down those loose tan cheeks. Sincerity, it was, but history lingered strongly in the air, fouled with shattered dreams and broken promises. It smelled like blood. His time in crumbling Yugoslavia was good for something after all.

"You'd say ANYTHING to get your head out of a noose!" He seethed. The mongrel hesitantly gave him a look. "Don't look at me like that! I always knew Muslim Mongrels like you are second-rate liars! Did you take you take your lessons from France when they offered you a discount on some FA-MAS rifles? Ha! You sure as -hell- picked some lousy tutors."

"No, Mr. Drazen!" The mongrel barked, just like he knew it would. "I am not a liar. You are!"

"Of course…." the vest scratched his knuckles when they met the top of his hip, letting the elbow jaunt out naturally. "It's always the Jews' fault, yes?"

"As I insisted that you do not confuse me with the terrorists, I will not make the same mistake by grouping you with the Israelites!" the mongrel growled. "It would be foolish and fraudulent to do that! Despite violent critics and vultures in the PA, the Jews are some of the most peaceful people I have ever had the pleasure to negotiate with. But not you, Mr. Drazen! You would say ANYTHING, do ANYTHING just to murder!"

"That's Major to you—!"

"You do not even deserve that rank, boy!" the mongrel finished for him. How dare it! "You do not even have privilege to be called a man. I do not even know why I was afraid of you, boy! I would curse your mustache if you had one, you monkey!"

The dog's head was growing too fat for its skull structure. He'd take care of that.

"Eli…." His good eye took in all the scenery as he let out a groan.

"On it, Sir." Eli nodded - and the dog yelped when the good 2nd Lieutenant gave it a firm -double-tap- on the legs, a tap on each limb. The look on its cringing mug was exquisite. The legs of its pants shimmered dully in fattening lines… and sparkling brightly on the floor in blossoming crimson dribbles. "There."

"Thank you, Eli." He smiled devilishly. "Just be lucky my brother's not here, or he'd have a field day!"

"How…!" the mongrel bared its teeth menacingly. "—How on earth would that be different from you?"

"That's a good point." His finger just barely touched his chin thoughtful before he dropped it. "I don't know. Either way, you'd end up just like everybody else!"

The mongrel mumbled bitterly, passing through those teeth painfully. It wanted to touch its wounds, probably wanting to lick them clean. The interlock of its digits waned for that purpose, but the Baby Eagle's rattling kept them firmly laced. He could have sworn the dog mumbled a curse at him. Something along the lines of "bastard", but he wasn't certain.

So he simply decided to be certain.

"What was that…?" he sneered. "Do you have something to say to me…?"

"Go…!" the mongrel whimpered. "FUCK yourself!"

He frowned. "You first."

The dog growled at him and… grew…! Growing fat, it was… bubbling… boiling on its resentment, anger, and fury but—! Eli…. Eli was bubbling too… boiling just like the rest of the monument! It was like watching oil gurgle. The good 2nd lieutenant's voice was muted and distant, like the man was calling for him in a cave.

"Sir…?" Eli asked faintly.

"-Oh…! -" His thumb slipped loosely around on his glove, watching it pulsate atop his forefinger - till the cloth swallowed that elusive red button. Tanks on his back gasped for him. Arms, legs, back, chest; his whole body inflated like a balloon. Quickly and surely the motion sickness simply melted off him. "Good Lord…! I think I'm going to puke!"

"You all right, Sir?" Eli asked.

"Damn motion sickness…!" he cursed. "At least this new Goliath still works!"

"Don't overdose." the man warned. "You've worked too hard."

"Finally!" he breathed in gladly. "Someone who understands me!"

"I do my best, Sir." Eli nodded. "So what's your next move?"

He smiled, and the assault back met the floor beside him with a -THUNK-. "I'm glad you asked."

He scooped up the pack by a thick strap, hoisting it up to his eyelevel for all two to see. The mongrel's brow perked. Eli gave a sigh, and the Baby Eagle self nestled back into its narrow nest. Those thin arms went wide - and they looked like they were about to snap clean off when he caught the pack.

"It's time." He nodded back. "You know what to do."

"W-What are you talking about?" the dog cringed still. "What are you going to do…?"

"This is the end!" he smiled warmly. "Former Czechoslovakia, Yugoslavia, Israel…! I've been fighting for more than a decade, and finally the fight comes to a close. Among the Albanian mujahideen, I was known and feared as '-Dajjal-'. Today, I eagerly hope I live up to that mark! The blood of my enemies has paved the path to my ultimate fate, my destiny. I have no regrets. Rejoice! The end comes in a glorious battle! It will make a fine display for my final act! -Selah-!"

"Are you mad?" the mongrel's brow furrowed. "This is not glorious! It is just simple murder! DEATH AND DESTRUCTION IS NOT A GAME!"

He scoffed. "It's do - or - die - time, filth! We'll see if there's any mettle in your words just yet—!"

The doors behind slammed open, resonating throughout the sanctuary with a flat bang! He shrugged it off. It didn't take a genius as to why, and his suspicions proved him right (like they always did) as the intruder called out to him in an alto.

"DRAZEN!" Little Kimberly barked.

He let out a sigh, and the stubborn Mick whipped in front of him with a simple about-face. Galil's handiwork gazed callously back at him, her gaze cold as the chunk of steel she clenched tightly by the grips. G did a great job, he must admit. Her emeralds were broken, much of the sparkling, twinkling sheen simply gone.

Wonderful! When innocence was finally laid to rest, pushing up daisies while the maggots feasted, all's right in the world.

XXX

"Well, well, well…!" The devil smiled... warmly? "Guess who made it after all! I was hoping I could take a leak on the rock before you got here. You're not as dumb as you look after all. Not many people know the after-parties can be even better than the main event! Glad you could make it, the celebration's about to start!"

He smiled at her. By God, that stubborn freak -smiled- at her! Something was wrong, not to say that it's different from any other of their previous confrontations. But Uzi…! Where was the bitter crass, the volatile temperament? He wasn't crocked per se, yet he was drunk, probably half-past-drowned in his own radical delirium.

"Cut the bullshit, Drazen!" Her trembling finger slipped off the cold frame, curling adeptly behind the trigger guard. "I'm taking you down!"

"This situation…." The monster blinked ascetically. "I find it very nostalgic. Déjà vu all over again, don't you, Kimmie? Back on your Pacific coastline, yes?"

She hissed. "Shut up!"

"Of course I was a little closer to you." He carried on obliviously. "I was standing there, in Escutcheon's fess point, right after I left the nerve center. And that blond buffoon! Ha—! I wonder now how'd he like that elbow to the head. Not that it matters anymore. Nothing does anymore! He'll be dead, just like me and the rest of you!"

"I said SHUT UP!" she barked. "After Tank Man - DON'T THINK I WON'T KILL YOU!"

"Of course!" he grinned deliriously. "Always like an American to send his bitch first!"

She growled again.

"Out of all the people I put to rest, not one of them was as irritating as you!" he frowned. "No matter how many times I had you cornered, no matter how many times I thought I had you, you always squeezed through my fingers! I cannot express just how… -aggravating- that can be!"

"It's a gift." She furrowed her brow.

"Still," the Devil shrugged, "I'll enjoy killing you as much as I will killing the buffoon!"

"That's enough, Drazen!" she shouted. "The game's over! Much to my dissatisfaction, if you surrender now I won't put one rightly through that thick skull!"

Drazen laughed. "You think you can kill me? That's a laugh, Kimmie! You couldn't kill me on Escutcheon, you couldn't kill me -Shabbat-, and you can't kill me now. And since you can't put - me - out - my - misery, I might as well kill everyone I can!"

"That your final answer?" she spat. "You want to take your final journey? Fine! I got thirty tickets right here I'm just -aching- to give away!"

Drazen cocked his head quizzically - and there came a -WHOOSH-! The Devil's fouled shroud rippled in the breeze, pleating haphazardly as he tore it off his collar. It was like a puddle of blood on the floor, blackened by the foul air lingering around the freak like an aura. The king of the fiery underworld stood proudly before her, puffing out its charred breastplate pompously, draping with dark tubes that… -pierced- into his naked arms. Even in the black fabric of his pants, they were driven through!

With the sling up and over his head, his bulky combat load dropped to his side. The major cringed lightly, and the bolt slammed flawlessly… all by itself!

"Nice trick." She said.

Drazen smirked back, and with a swoop of his only hand, he motioned for that patch of raw, untouched stone. The fabled Noble Rock! Never in her life she thought she would see something of its magnitude, but she didn't recall a woodland printed backpack in any of the photographs. Drazen smiled deliriously again.

"Want to know what that is?"

She eased her finger from the trigger; she practically knew it already.

"The Neutron Bomb!" she cursed.

"Yes!" he nodded fervently. "It's the highlight of the party! When it goes off, it'll be another shot heard round the world - and the world will come running with guns a-blazing! It'll take everyone on-site with it, even this dog here, and irradiate the accursed mountain for decades! But when it's not anymore, it'll be too late."

"You're serious about destroying this planet?" the pad of her finger found the trigger blade again. "What good would that do?"

"It's who I am!" he frowned. "I don't care why!"

"Fuck…!" she let her eyes take a deserved lap around her head. "Was Unknown as bad as you?"

For the first time that she could remember, Drazen went bug-eyed. As the powers that be and the PA Chairman were witnesses, that metal-head went bug-eyed - even the scrambled-egg one!

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?" he demanded.

"Why so surprised, Drazen?" she smirked. "That's whom you're created from, right, a phenotype with 95-percent reproduction of the prime donor, yes?"

Those eyes boggled. "How…?"

"Dr. Phil, of course." She would have laughed at that under any other circumstance. "He told me all about it."

"Oh…!" he frowned gravely. "So that's what you've been after all this time, eh?"

"What?" she blinked.

"Don't play dumb with me!" he growled. "Unknown's Legacy, isn't that right? Isn't that what Mossad contracted you to steal from me, ISN'T IT?"

"Impossible!" the chairman exclaimed. "The legacy, it's missing! It went missing during the Human Genome Project! Everybody knows that!"

She was perplexed.

"Unknown!" Drazen growled lividly. "Don't tell me you haven't heard of the Unknown, Kimmie! Possibly one of the greatest soldiers of the Second World War, and you're in the dark about it? According to myth, he's one of the men responsible for the defeat of the Axis powers as well as for the call to reestablish Israel! And I bet your looking for some sort of record pertaining to him and his legacy, AREN'T YOU?"

This dude's nuts! - She acknowledged her mind's whisper with a nod. -Nuts! -

"The fuck…?" she shook her head. "You've lost it!"

"No matter!" he dismissed. "All the better for me! When the bomb goes off, everything will come to an end! We'll chase the wind for all eternity, and Unknown's Legacy will go along with it!"

"Whatever will help you die peacefully, Drazen!" she furrowed her brow. "I don't have anymore time for your bull!"

"Oh, Kimmie…!" his smirk was smug. This was it: the final battle was here! The time for talk was over. Drazen lifted his cumbersome arm - and her trigger slack was already gone! "Don't get your panties in a twist just yet. You've come all this way, and you're still not having any FUN!"

And so the ballistic requiem ensued. Who it was for, she didn't know just yet!

XXX

Abu was speechless!

At a sheer loss of words, he was, when two of the Bloody Reds had stolen away Palestine's moment of victory. The black monkey gloated from atop that sacred dome, staining it, violating it with the grimy soles of its bloodied boots. Its underling swept into the scene like a hawk; snatching the Chairman with its lanky talons while it carted him away, out of sight.

Then, within not even a tinkle of the tired eye, the black monkey poured out his rage in an inferno that consumed the entire mount! Not even the water that had been upwelling on the site (at the Jews' behest, of course) could have quenched it. Above the lapping tongues, the blaze breathed out dark, churning plumes as though it had black lung. The bright sun above soon went flush with a furious red, glaring down upon them disparagingly.

Though He was of the moon, Allah was furious!

Those Americans affirmed his suspicions, cutting and running just like every time since the second Great War. They would pay for that; they would pay for everything that has and will happen! Whatever cells festering within their homeland would make sure of it.

The crowds too made like those cowardly soldiers, pushing, shoving their way down the steps. But one literally rubbed his -kaffiyeh- the wrong way, squeezing between Muhammad and himself as -she- hurried up the steps. Probably confused, but her head; he couldn't get it out of his head, fiery as the blaze upon the mount. He wasn't sure if it was indeed her hair or a bright -hijab-. People behind him called out to her, but she seemed to pay them no mind.

"Father!" Muhammad exclaimed. "The Blood Reds have captured our leader!"

"I can -see- that, my son!" he replied.

"That monster cannot do this!" Muhammad was practically hysterical. "He CANNOT DO THIS! What're we going to do?"

"I do not know, son!" he exclaimed back. "I simply do not! But all we can do is pray to Allah, and ask that He at least spare the Chairman and all of Palestine - the occupation or not!"

"Even the Jews?" His son went flabbergast. "They do not deserve His mercy!"

"Son, there is no time for that now!" he shouted.

"Then what do we do?" Muhammad demanded. "Ask the Bloody Reds to play nice?"

"That would work on their government counterparts, but no." he shook his head. "We'll figure something out, but we must take our leave!"

"But—!"

"Now, son!"

XXX

The sun glared down upon them furiously, shining angrily while its rays filtered through in red while black smoke overwhelmed the sky. Kim had rushed through the crowd hastily, facing fate hastily when she jumped through the flaming wire. Coming home alive or in a box, she didn't care as long as she tried her best to help.

But Ron did care. It was his only real complaint about his love: she was too damn brave for her own good. No, that wasn't it. It was more like stubbornness, and her time with Drazen and his freaks obviously had hardened her resolve. Obsessing over her target, aching to take him down even it meant her life! Reciprocal fear, it was.

Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the choice of something more important than fear, even if it meant to take a few steps back and think for a moment—!

RAT-ATAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT—! -

He dropped to a crouch. Gunshots; many of them! All of them blasted out from that golden dome. If not, then they had to be somewhere nearby.

"Shit!" he cursed. "KIM!"

He sprang upright. One leg was already in a severe crook when he brought the knee to his belly, ready to run - but a large hand clamped onto his shoulder firmly.

"Ron," Yune called, "wait a minute!"

"Get off me, Dude-San!" he glared back, shoving his hand off. "Kim's in trouble! There's no time!"

"I know that!" he frowned. "But Drazen's up there! You go up there pulling that macho bullshit, you'll be dead before you hit the ground!"

"I don't have time for this!" he shouted. "ANY OF THIS!"

"This guy's a PROFESSIONAL!" the Asian snarled. "You're going to get yourself killed!"

Several more claps of gunfire. He looked, and the shifting, churning blackness encroached swiftly upon the Dome of the Rock like the angel of death; a blinding, suffocating cloud that no one could escape. Nobody would last long in that, breathing it in, stumbling blindly if the flames didn't devour him or her first. The smoke would consume Kim, strangling her while she hacked out her life force in the midst of haggard breaths.

He turned back around. Yune looked at him gravely.

"You do what YOU have to do!" he frowned. "I'm going! Don't try to stop me!"

A sigh.

"Very well, Stoppable." Yune replied. "Or should I say - Un-stoppable now? But if you're going, so am I!"

"What?" his eyes batted. "No! This is—!"

"This is it!" Yune finished for him. "The last mission. You're going to need all the help you can get!"

"Fine!" he shook his head. "Whatever! On one condition though, you leave Drazen to me!"

"As you wish." The Korean shrugged. "I'm here if you need me."

"Exactly!"

Yune spun around on his feet swiftly, stumbling when his heels slipped off the thin step completely.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed. "Anyway, Tara! Robin! Go get Sadie, and get her up here - post-haste! I don't care what you have to do, just get it done. That's an order - and no buts!"

"Whatever you say, Hon." the blonde replied with a quick, stiff salute before she began her trot down the stairs. "You got it. Come on, Rob!"

"Coming." the cream figure shrank as it too made its way down the steps. "I am coming! Slow and steady wins the race, after all!"

"We're going to have to wait up for them." Yune turned back around. "There's no turning back now. You ready to do this, Ron?"

"For KP?" he folded his arms tightly. "I'd do anything!"

"Glad you feel that way," the Asian shrugged, "because this is going to be bumpy!"

"Of course!"

Ron nodded… and then his eyelids parted just a little wider while his brow went into a definite kink.

"-Bumpy…? -"

XXX

"Well!" Uzi said confidently. With a whispering flapper, the poncho had wrapped around him loosely, draping off his shoulders comfortably as he snapped the collar button. "That was refreshing!"

Kim Possible, little Kimberly Anne Possible; who would have surely thought! He had to give the Mick credit. That fiery redhead sure had a lot of spunk and had the skills to back it up. She was indeed the oeuvre of the modern woman, everything that women's rights, feminism, reputed liberation aspired to be. Their thesis, their opus right here - before him: a true Rosie the Riveter.

A little too easy, actually…! -

Just like society's antithesis it fell, shattering into pieces in the wake of true greatness. A noble effort, she was, a prototype with great promise. Yet again, some promises were purely meant to be broken, like her! She lay helplessly before him in a tired heap, broken, chipped down to size by his hand. Her hair was puddle of different red on the crimson floor, her own crimson deepening the carpet's own. The small of her back hardly lifted at all.

"If you think as much, Major Drazen." Eli argued gently. "However, I believe that 96 put up quite a fight, given her opponent. I'm quite surprised she lasted this long."

"Me too." He felt his lips yank into a smirk. "Thankfully, this Mick had the brains to become a cheerleader, gymnastics and all. If she were stuck on a debate team, I would have drilled one between her eyes not even a quarter way through!"

"Exactly." Eli replied. "Fate has a way of working things out for the best. You did away with her and got a good workout in."

"True." He nodded. "It's been a long time since I had such a good fight. I didn't even have to use much of the drugs. A shame I was just getting warmed up."

He took to a squeaky knee beside her, letting his fingers comb through her soft, flowing hair. A true beauty indeed; so beautiful, so angelic, so perfect! And how perfect it'd be when that beauty putrefies, tissues melting on the ground like a Sloppy Joe just like everyone else on this filthy, twirling mud-ball! Soon, it would come to pass, oh-so very soon indeed…!

"A fine woman, little Kimberly was." He sighed. "It almost pains me to have to finish her. Almost…!"

"You would murder an innocent girl just for kicks?" the mongrel winced still. "You truly are disgusting!"

"How'd that be any different from you and your kind, dog?" he frowned back. "You Muslims are all the same! Shooting, frying, burning us to death, even if we were alive at one point!"

"I do not speak for the terrorists festering within the disputed territories." The balding dog growled. "I cannot speak for them! Like you, Drazen! You do not speak for all the Israelis, here and abroad! Considering your actions the past several days, I hardly would believe they would accept you as their own! For you would be wholeheartedly rejected! You -will- go down in flames: a treacherous heathen to your own people and a monster of catastrophe and genocide to mine!"

"Catastrophe, eh…?" he smiled warmly. "I like the sound of that!"

The dog growled rabidly, a sign of abrupt events to come!

"I despise you, Drazen." The mongrel spat bitterly. "If this were not a holy site, I surely would spit upon the ground!"

"No one's stopping you!" he smirked giddily. "Spit, pee, defecate! It's all in good fun. Besides, that fight really made my bladder slosh. Now, if you two excuse me, I have a boulder to desecrate."

"That's what you want, Major Drazen." Eli shrugged. "I won't stop you. Take all the time you need, just for me!"

"Thanks." He said. "But time's too long for my—!"

—BLAMM! —

—"Taste…!"

He turned around, and what a bad taste at that. Bitter it was, festering on the back of his tongue, with but a hint of sourness at the tip. It ruined his moment; his victory fallen to the ground, crushed underneath those large double doors while an SUV rolled atop of them. Painted hot red, it was lost almost upon the floor if it weren't for that yellow streak running diagonal on the body.

"BURN!" the machine shouted out like Matt, except with a more feminine timbre.

"Yeah…!" Its wavy blonde pilot agreed with a bob. "I'm never doing that again!"

The gang's all here, futilely come to rescue dear little Kimberly from her inexorable fate. It was lost on one of the passenger, lengthy blond bangs quivering over several definite freckles as he leapt out of the vehicle. The boy rushed for the girl, the sanctuary resonating in his blaring shout.

"KP!"


	45. Chapter 45

45

"BURN!"

Sadie rightly shouted back at her after being forced to tear ass through the burning plateau. Tara was certain that the car suffered a throbbing migraine, pounding just above and behind her headlights when she crashed into those imposing doors. The AI should be grateful the doors made like a thick doormat the first time around. Amazing really.

"Yeah…!" She clutched the wheel tightly. "I'm never doing that again!"

Ron rightly could not have cared less for anyone else, bringing those legs up and over Sadie's panel doors. He was on the floor a moment after, his torso practically lost on the carpet simply by the colors.

"KP!" he shouted while a hand of his stabbed into a bulky pocket.

"Why did you have to smash down the doors…?" the balding man on his wet, soggy knees winced. "They were not locked and the Waqf just HAD THEM REFINISHED!"

"That's gratitude for you…." She rolled her eyes.

"T, not now!" Her man chided.

"Well, well, well…." A smirk cut smugly across that punk's twisted face. Oh, how she'd like to cut something else into that nasty flesh as well! "What do we have here? Why, it's the A-Team - yet AGAIN! Why can't you all just be good little whelps and just die?"

"Shut up!" Ron's hand surfaced with a shinny revolver in the squared grip. The typical staccato of clicks tapped her drums as the boy thumbed back the claw hammer. "Let her go, Drazen!"

The punk's eyes rolled back into his head. That tawdry cowl flapped, pleating neatly behind the shoulder as Drazen's only hand went for that borderline howitzer strapped to his hip. It withdrew flawlessly from the holster, and it let out a single click when he pulled back the hammer.

Ron's wrist flexed, and he took a step forward when the metal-head angled that cannon down at fallen Kimberly. She was mess - yet again! Patches of her white t-shirt blushed, rosy with pink before they deepened with that unnerving color. It wasn't long till it was even with the carpet.

"Why?" the punk shrugged. "What're you going to do about it—?"

BLAM! -

Though Drazen's trigger was flush against its stop - it fired not! Ron simply struck first; the advantage of a revolver's hair trigger, supposedly. The punk's head was whipped to the side. A thick red line blew out from Drazen's neck, a red mist dissolving in the air while globs and drops were lost on the carpet! The massive pistol flipped by the weak finger, mooning back at her briefly before it stared at her coldly with that large, empty eye from the carpet.

"That!" Ron's retort was as cold as the steel in his hand.

"Major Drazen!" the lanky man's dark eyes went wide, yet that Jericho of his did not waver from the Chairman whatsoever. "Are you alive?"

Uzi let out a groan. His abs yanked him up - only to fail him as he dropped back to a weak crunch on the floor. The hand quickly went for that raw, red line. Safe to say, it was, that he hardly knew what had hit him. He was as helpless as Kim, the last bit of his -mighty- strength clutched at his own throat. Ron carefully let one of his sneakers go in front of the other, cautiously making his move for the punk.

"Back off, Blondie!" the lanky man shouted, the muzzle of the Jericho hidden by his hostage's thinning crop. The man took a position behind the Chairman, practically folding behind the balding man while keeping the muzzle on his hairline. "Back off now or this dog will go out like Old Yeller!"

"Pf…!" Ron scoffed, and his firm grip on the revolver waned quickly… a little too quickly. "All your time with Drazen's pretty boy, and that's the best you can come up with? Come on!"

"Just say the word, Yune." Her fingers wringed the wheel while she whispered to the passenger beside. She let her shoe rest against the gas lightly. "I'll have him flattened like a pancake before you know it!"

"Not smart, T." he replied. "Unless you can launch Sadie into an area the size of a quarter, you'd better leave it to us."

"Don't you mock me, boy!" the lanky man shouted back. "I got the Chairman. I got the gun AND THE HAIR TRIGGER TO PROVE IT!"

"You got a gun?" Ron shot back. "-Oy gevalt ishmer! - I got a gun too! Want to hang out?"

"Back -off-, Ron." Yune mumbled.

"Yune is right!" Robin seconded. "Do not let pride consume you as it did these fools!"

"What'd you say?" the lanky man poked up his head, thin brow perked.

A door closed just as quickly as it was opened, and Sadie rocked on her chassis. If she were pressed against one of the many columns standing around, Robin would blend in quite easily if it were not for her skin. Camouflage or none, it did not stop the dark girl from strolling out in to open for Kim. But the question was why.

"Rob…!" Yune's drawling voice was a crescendo.

"Keep back, Robin." With an extended arm, Ronald warned. "Get back in the car!"

"I am sorry, but I cannot." Robin asked as she continued her walk. "What would that do? It would do nothing but give them something to feed on, to nourish on. And why should we give them that nourishment? Why should we give into the fear, the fury, and the volatile cocktail of emotion that saturates our minds? We should not!

"I cannot lie." The girl took a knee beside the auburn, one of those dark hands lost in her red locks. "I am frightened a little. I can feel my heart pound against my breastbone. But I cannot let it get to me! I will not let that happen. I utterly refuse to fall into that same bear trap that heathens like the VSA have fallen into!"

"That's enough, little girl!" the stringy man unfolded himself to his feet. "Or you'll be the next in line!"

"You would kill me?" Robin moved her head up to him. "You would further betray your own people, your friends, and your family? Slay an innocent in the eyes of the Almighty, on this holy Mount Mariah? This despicable wretch you call your Major is one thing, but are you truly ready to betray the Most High? He frowns upon murder and treachery!"

The lanky man's dark eyes were wide in ponder, parts of his Jericho rattling inside that shaky grip. He had been shaken, but it was not simply by her words. No, it couldn't have just been that. There was another force at work certainly. She could feel its presence, a sudden chill tingling in her body throughout, surging from the back of her neck around the circumference of her torso.

And yet it felt… warm.

"Aw - for fuck's sake, Eli…." The metal-head twitched. "Shoot them. Shoot them all!"

The man called Eli was at a loss. He seemed torn at the least, yanked between his senses of justice and unquestionable duty. She smiled in relief, her breath let out easier when that odd muzzle slipped off its target. Work without faith really was dead. Duty in itself was beginning to lose that sparkling, enticing sheen.

"-Aw…! -" Uzziel hacked, and he flopped over to his belly. "Are you deaf, Eli? I said shoot them!"

The lanky man shook his head.

"No…!" his gun dropped back into his holster. "I won't…!"

"Huh?" Drazen propped his head up. "What'd you mean you -won't-?"

"Simply because she's right, Sir." Eli sighed. "I can say for certain we're wrong… -really- wrong. I have forgotten what it means to be a fruition of Abraham's, Isaac's, and Jacob's seed. Life is a precious gift bestowed upon us by the Almighty Himself. He has chosen us to show and remind the world of that, and much more. It shouldn't be taken for granted. Likewise, who are we to determine who lives and dies without just cause, Sir?"

"ME, DAMNIT!" Uzi seethed. "This is my PURPOSE! THIS IS MY DESTINY! Too long have I lived on this planet! Too long have I fought! And too long freaks like -A-Team- over yonder TRIED TO PUT ME IN MY GRAVE! Well, I'll tell you something, Mr. Sentimental: the only one putting me in a casket is I! And I will NOT LET YOU TAKE THAT FROM ME!"

"I wouldn't dream of it, Major." Eli shrugged. "If that's what you really want."

"You're still in my outfit, 2nd Lieutenant!" the punk breathed. "You're in so deep, YOU'LL NEVER SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY AGAIN! Now do as I say and kill them!"

"I may have walked on your side, Major, but it's never too late to jump the fence!" the lanky man exclaimed. "Unlike Sergeant Jude, I refuse to take part in genocide anymore! I'm not going to Hell for you! I am a Jew, unlike you, Drazen, you heretic!"

"SILENCE!" the punk coughed. "I am your commanding officer!"

The lanky man shook his head soberly; free from the painful hangover he'd been through. The left hand of his lifted up to his pectoral, the red Hebrew hidden by the greasy leather of the glove. The cloth of the BDU wrinkled, the pleats running for that clutching hand - and there was a sharp rip! The jacket then appeared oddly asymmetrical and the man held out a thin flap of cloth.

"Not anymore, Sir." He threw it at the metal-head. "I woke up, just like everybody else!"

Uzziel swore loudly. Writhing, stewing in his juices while utter defeat stared back at him from that thin, rectangular piece of cloth a foot away.

"MOTHER-FUCKERS!" Drazen seethed painfully. "You're the WORST ARMY EVER!"

"It's over, Drazen." Ron remembered the steel in his grip, and he trained it on the punk. "Kim better not be dead, or I'll personally ditch you into Ramallah! You can catch a real view of the city from a lamppost, last I checked."

"She is not, friend." Robin dropped her gaze. "She is still with us, thankfully."

"Hear that, Drazen?" She yanked herself head-and-shoulders above the steering wheel. "It's your lucky day!"

"It's not over, you bitches…!" The cloak inflated to above knee height while its wearer pushed himself up. The dark cloth flowed over that handheld howitzer. "It's not over…!"

"Yes, it is." Ron said. "Give up now, or we'll throw you out into the West Bank. I'm sure the locals would love to get their hands on you."

"We'll see about that." Drazen said. "2nd Lieutenant!"

"What is it, Uzi?" the lanky man's dark eyes rolled along his head.

"Nothing really." Those dark swathed shoulders perked and dropped instantly. "I'd just like to say that it's been nice knowing YOU!"

The miniature howitzer disappeared into the dark folds - reappearing immediately, spearing out of the rippling cape by an outstretched arm. Barely Eli had the time to draw out his own before the howitzer unleashed a flowing fireball! The Chairman hit the deck - and just like that, it was over. The stick man's head bobbed to and fro like a speed bag, the fresh -bindi- a gaping hole. Those dark eyes rolled into white on his ovoid head, and the man crumpled to the carpet like a loose faggot.

Drazen pulled a one eighty as he leapt to his feet, huffing it pretty good for a leaky packet of hot sauce. The oozing red line on his neck didn't cross her mind at all. No, but the folds of cloth brushing against his waist glinted rather slickly, kind of like the poor Chairman's forelegs.

Ron didn't know what hit him, flattened to the carpet before he brought the revolver up to his target. It would have done him the same if the blond just chucked it! Drazen had gotten around him professionally with trained ease of a Special Forces grunt. There was a dark elbow to the red gut; Ron keeled over - and kissed the floor with that same elbow to the back of the head.

After a mere kick to Rob's back, Uzi huffed it straight for her! Her foot felt a lot weightier against the pedal - till she felt that warm palm cup her kneecap.

"Don't!" Yune barked.

"Why not?" she demanded.

"You couldn't stop in time." He said. "You'd kill the team!"

"You make that sound like it's a bad thing!"

Uzi laughed as he rushed up beside. Her head smacked against the headrest when a piece of dark cloth smashed into her crown rather firmly. She whipped herself around. The punk let out another laugh as he ran straight into that flaming maw, consumed entirely by the hot tongues. If only that were literally true…!

"He's getting away!" she exclaimed.

"Forget him." Her man replied. "He won't go far. He's way too proud for that."

She put a hand to her head, hissing as the pain burned behind her skull.

Ron slowly pushed himself off the carpet, putting a foot underneath him, the other one following as he straightened himself. The cold steel found favor again when the blond plucked it off the floor, only to drop it into a cargo pocket. He stumbled for Kim like a drunk after a long night at the bar, sorrow drowned like a yellow rubber duck. Overwhelming, certainly, and it shoved him to his knees beside his love.

"Kim?" he shouted. "KIM!"

"Like I had said," Robin carefully turned the auburn on her back, "she is still among the living, but her bleeding is bad! I do not know how or why. It is as though something had torn open!"

Torn open was right! The little heart stitched between her perky mounds was gone, lost in an encroaching field of pink. Her peachy skin were a few shades lighter, a ghastly light that made her look like an albino. Her blood oozed out in a thick red line, blossoming out of Kim's left side unevenly, creeping gradually for the pink.

It was like the emergency ride back from Escutcheon all over again.

"Oh no!" Kim's man exclaimed. "The wound! It tore open!"

"Shit!" Yune cursed.

"Kimberly had been wounded?" Robin asked.

"Yes." She interjected. "Except the bleeding wasn't this bad!"

"And she doesn't have that suit this time around." Yune noted. "That, or Uzi must have nicked some organs! No time for a diagnosis, either way."

"What's my orders?" she glanced at him hastily. "What should I do?"

"Stay here, T." The passenger door opened. Sadie rocked gently as her man hopped out of her, disappearing behind the passenger seat. "Stay here with Robin and the rest. Treat the wounded the best you can. There should be a first-aid kit somewhere in the back, if I remember right. I'm leaving you guys the ordinance as well."

"What about you?" She put Sadie's rumbling heart into arrest with a jangle and a flick of the wrist. "What about you guys?"

"Drazen's overdue for rude awakening, T." Yune reappeared from the empty seat beside, his bare arms occupied fully with that machinegun. Brass chains were draped over his shoulder like a bandolier. "And we're going to make sure he takes it!"

"You're going out with just that .357?" her eyes crossed. "Are you nuts?"

"We'll be okay, T." he set the machinegun down. Brass jangled on the carpet as he simply shrugged them off. "Besides, you'll need all the edge you can get should anymore of Drazen's cronies or an angry mob storm the place."

"That should not happen." The Chairman mumbled out a reply, even with his tired lips kissing the carpet. "I know the Palestinians can get out of control, tribal clashes and terrorist actions and all, but I believe they have the sensibility not to go - as you would say - 'ape-shit'.

"And if you would not mind…!" the man groaned. "I do have a medical condition affecting my legs! I could get lead poisoning, you know."

"Forgive us, Mr. Chairman." Robin apologized. "We will attend to you as soon as we can."

"Forget the Temple Mount." The man's sleeves extended evenly from his body, and with a shove to the carpet, he gradually pushed himself up to his knees. "I will wholeheartedly accept your treatment as a true goodwill gesture."

"Thank you, Sir." Robin nodded. "But understand, I must treat this woman first. Her wound may become mortal if I do not do something!"

"Proceed." The man nodded back. "But please, do what you can quickly for my sake."

"We will try." Robin said.

"You heard the man, T." Yune had disappeared again, only to reappear with the rockets and the launcher in arms. They joined the chains on the floor, but a little more gently this time around. "You'd better get started."

"Okay." Her side felt a little bit cooler as she made her door swing open. Her insoles slapped against her feet when she hopped out of the car. "But please. Whatever you have to do, just come back in one piece!"

"I will." He smiled weakly at her back. "No promises, though."

"Please." She shook her head. "I'm too experienced for that now."

"Good." He smiled back before he turned around. "You ready to go, Ron?"

"As I'll ever be, Yune!" the boy reared himself back up to his feet. "Let's take that bastard down!"

"You got it!"

Ron's fist found its way into his pocket again, slipped back out with the revolver in hand. Yune took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly, relishing in it with closed eyes before he let it all escape. Those brown eyes popped open behind a wrinkling, furrowing crown. Fire burn within those eyes, burning hotly with such resolve it forged his nerves into steel. She saw it too in Ron, chocolate eyes melting in the fire, so much so that his eyes would have burst if it were real.

They couldn't be bothered to say their farewells, fueled by the noxious fumes of testosterone and machismo while they raced out into the flaming maw. Hopefully they'd run empty before things got a little too hot outside in the Devil's fire-pit.

God, if you can hear me, please… save them from Drazen and themselves—! -

Taken aback couldn't begin to describe it when she heard - -heard- - her own mind reply. Was that even possible?

Consider it done, Stark. - It replied calmly, collectedly: the complete opposite of everything around. -Consider it done…. -

XXX

The southeastern area of the Temple Mount was rather peaceful, untouched by the blaze completely. Stupid Eli hadn't bothered to pour the chemicals around here. Uzi did wonder for a moment why before the simple fact gazed at him like a -bulge-. The second bulge, it was, the consequence of irrational tolerance and -carte blanche- on both sides. Surely enough, the bulge would come to a festering head, popping violently and it would take down a hefty chunk of the Temple Mount.

And the world down with it…! -

Not if those soldiers had anything to say about it! Typical Americans: hotheaded and prideful, they were. Simply because they had developed -the- bomb first, they achieved the right to police the world. On a past day, he could have appreciated it better if they tried not to due him in. They would have lived to seen it in him, but because of the cold stares of their pistols and rifles had given, that would never come to be. Those stares had burst into flaming glares; the speeding manifestations of hot anger had zipped for him uselessly.

But how useless it truly became as he dealt with those pompous assholes one by one.

Those hot glares had dropped back into stares. Endless gazes all around, blank and accusing, staring at anything that happened to be in the field of view. It reminded him of picture he had seen a while ago, "The 1000-Yard Stare". Set in French-Indochina with a nameless GI in the foreground, his eyes dead, gaze never-ending, staring down oblivion infinitely. Forever frozen in the pose the artist chose to give him. Creepy, yet beautiful in its own right: an a-temporal masterpiece.

Taking down the Americans may have been fun, but it was over far too soon. He should have left one alive, so that he may have the pleasure of prolonging the merriment. Galil would surely have had a blast, playing with fresh meat courtesy of Uncle Sam. Playing, patting, scratching, tearing, ripping it apart like a cat before he feasts. Yes, it would have made a perfect show before the world caved in—!

He snapped his fingers; that was it! The light bulb just popped out of its trans-dimensional pocket right above his head, though the glowing light of his genius was but a mere amber to the raging flames. The next ass that crossed his path, man or woman, red, yellow, black, or white, Gentile or Jew, he would -play- with them just like dear G would. Galil's endless trip through the proverbial Nod would be just a little easier that way—

—"DRAZEN!" —

—But not at this moment.

There they were, two of them standing in the midst of the fallen: the underlings of his blonde, wannabe executioner, training on him a tool of the trade. Protecting the Muslim menace everywhere so HAMAS and the United Nations wouldn't have to: it was pathetic! Surely they couldn't see past those loose sacks of rotten meat, their putrefying stench clouding every thought. They couldn't, they -wouldn't-! Nothing stubbornly naive was meant to survive. He would make sure of it.

"Drazen." the yellow devil called. "It's over! No mater how you got it twisted in that thick skull of yours, it's over. You lost! I know you're a sore loser, but starting a nuclear holocaust is not the answer!"

"What do you mean?" he shrugged back. "After all I've put you through, are you still that dense, Bin-Mok? -Shtup! - And you call me thickheaded!"

"Death's your love, eh?" the blond 'Jew' said. "You're doing all this so you can meet him in a blaze of 'glory'? You really are nuts! No one's going to give a damn about you! If you're so adamant about it, just drill one into your head yourself. Save the planet a mess of trouble."

"After the Spaniard's villa," he sighed, "a bullet wouldn't do any better than the propeller to the head… or the grapple to the throat! And even if the .44 did blow my brains out a small hole, that'd be far too easy. After their attempts, the world shouldn't laugh and cheer at my demise. They don't deserve that privilege! So if I have to go down, I'll be sure as HELL they'll be coming with me!"

Blondie shook his messy head bitterly while that .357 did the cold staring for him.

"Why, Drazen?" the boy asked. "Why are you doing this?"

"Why…?" he cocked his head. "The earth is forever trapped in a the spiral of death. That's why. The planet reputedly was once pure and holy, the masterpiece of a grand creator. But since the 'fall' of man, everyone after Adam and Eve was born into damnable sin, thrown into a prison you could not escape.

"Of course people said of ways out: Judaism, Christianity, even Islam and others. Are they really? No, they're not. They cannot be. Even if they were, how would you ever know? Dead men tell no tales outside of empirical, physical evidence to how they met the end. We can believe in many things, but on our march through time, we become disillusioned. The things we believed in blindly were lies; perceptive vagaries, nothing more. Truth is not absolute, just relative, nothing more than cultural rationale."

"So what do you believe in, Drazen?" the boy frowned. "Enlighten me!"

"My boy…!" He smiled whimsically. "During my time on this mud-ball, I have found only one consistent truth that crosses oceans, borders, nations, cultures, gender gaps, and even ages like cardinal virtues. Death is what it is. Though this degenerating ball of filth maybe a flophouse to many peoples, we are all human. We all have an expiration date; no one lasts forever… not even me!"

"Thank God for that." Blondie's smirk was as clear as day, even through the hazy smog: Uzziel's case in point, right there!

"The nineties." He continued anyway. "The Balkans. Shortly after my homeland was torn in two, I was sent to live with extended family for a spell in Serbia. Some years later, I was sent to fight in the ensuing conflict even though Dad had found me before then."

"How could I forget…." The yellow devil shook his head soberly. "It was his idea, after all."

"Getting stuck in the quagmire did more than a youth reserve at the local police department would." He said. "I was one of the best of the child soldiers who fought in that conflict. Certainly Milosevic had a decent army of his own, but I wasn't one for sitting on the sidelines. No sir, far from it! I couldn't get enough of the conflict, the carnage and callousness of it all. I even became leader of a platoon of my own. My records earned me several monikers, including 'Concertina' and '-Dajjal-'. Of course you wouldn't find that in a revisionist's textbook. Geneva Convention and The Hague frown upon it, but they don't mean shit during a firefight!

"After 'Slobo's' loss for the Yugoslavian presidency, and his capture at his estate, I could see victor's justice as it truly appeared. Watching from across the street as the APC bashed down the gate, hauling the fearless leader off to Belgrade. Till then, I hadn't questioned why I fought. Just someone put an AKM in my hand and told me to kill as many KLA and Albanian Mujahideen as I could. But when Milosevic surrendered, everything I had fought for was for nothing. For my labor underneath the Serbian sun, I had inherited the wind - nothing at all! My friends had died in vain. It reminded me how too I was going to die, everything I would have accomplished for nothing.

"In the end, Serbia was defeated, and I was defeated - by THEM!"

"The Americans?" Yune said rather than asked.

"Of course." He nodded. "Them and the Muslim hordes! It only fueled my hatred toward them. I was withdrawn from Serbia, and on the same day did I realize what I was born for. Blondie might have seen them too, wondering around my base for his fuck-buddy."

"Apollyon!" Blondie's eyes lit up. "Those photographs!"

"My self-fulfilling prophecy." He nodded shallowly. "Created, Galil and I, to be the ultimate weapons, a borderline Gilgamesh with the desire for immortality conveniently engineered out. Giving a person the thoughts and desires of a gun, cold and emotionless, carrying out tasks without question or conscious. From steel and fire to flesh and blood, the pros of each without the cons! That was the real revolution in weaponry, don't you agree?"

"Sick and WRONG!" Blondie exclaimed bitterly. "SICK AND WRONG! What possessed Israel to even imagine something as so twisted?"

"Death, of course." He replied. "The very emotions that brought about the onset of that nihilistic desire. It's the natural extension of politics, you know. If they couldn't persuade the Palestinians themselves, then they were going to give them something- rather - someone they were going to listen to. And if not, with about a billion of them festering on the planet, you'd think they'd miss a couple hundred thousand?"

"Nope." Blondie shook his head. "They wouldn't. If they did, they're sure hiding it well."

"Indeed." He nodded back.

The large bird wiggled at his hip, aching to stretch its wings. It came easily enough, shoving that wide butt of its against his palm, middle finger just grazing his thumb as he slipped it out. Beautiful as always, it was; a true work of gun world's art. The steel frame flawless, just the way he liked it. Its flickering sheen was sharp as a blade in the scorching light. No matter what the jokers at Magnum Research called for, the Mark VII line was always the best! To think the legend began from a design by a couple lowly Americans.

The weaker pistol jiggled in the boy's squared grip. Blondie did his best at control, though the TV police shows could only do so much for a -shmuck-.

"Take it easy, Drazen." The boy said.

"What's wrong, Blondie!" he sneered, thumbing his bird's firm, spongy feathers. "Don't tell me you've never seen the greatest handgun ever made before? Ah… my IMI Desert Eagle. .44-magnum! Nine rounds, eight in the magazine and one in the pipe - more than enough to kill anything that moves!"

"Kick-ass pistol." The boy smirked. "Now put it down!"

"You want it?" he smirked back. "You Americans…! You expect everything from everyone! You're not worthy of its power! The technology that made this pistol possible is Israeli - since you dumb fucks couldn't figure out the feeding and cycling yourself! And you want it? Ha! Tell you what though. You can have it when you pry it from my dead fingers!"

"Still using that clunker, I see." That yellow devil shook his head. "Still too proud to learn."

"What?" he yelled.

"A nice gun as always," Yune replied, "I'll give you that. But its size and weight gives you no advantage past recoil. Long and cumbersome, large and heavy won't win you any quick-draws! It's a high-class weapon, Uzi. It wasn't designed to shoot people."

"No matter." He dismissed. "It was with me back in Serbia and served me well. It hasn't failed since I first got my hands on it. I was about fourteen at the time, and many men of NATO and KLA fell since then. On a good day, I could take out nine mongrels before the first clip ran dry.

"Those were the good old days." His good eye ran over his prized weapon, thumbing the rough down at the back of its long head. "Everyday when I woke up, I checked this pistol for rounds. And everyday, I found it suckling on a fresh slug, courtesy of my CO who slapped a fresh magazine in the night before. My fight wasn't over just yet, it seemed.

"Yugoslavia, the great 'quagmire', the ethnic cleansing, and the dried blood on my hands: all of it was real! But here I am, standing before you on the verge of destiny, driven back to war by something less than real. Much like you, more or less, driven by something one cannot begin to comprehend."

"Whatever, Uzziel." The yellow devil replied. "Your gun's not going to do you much here, unless Judea and Samaria's home to some deer and elk."

"In the Middle East, we don't hunt deer." He replied. "We hunt Jackals! And I spy a rather blond one right now!"

"You compare me to a scavenger?" Blondie growled. "That's interesting, coming from one himself!"

"I admit that." He shrugged. "Death is my business, death is my purpose! Death is my art, and today I'm about to put the final brushstroke on my masterpiece."

"Uzziel, for once, I feel kind of sorry for you." The blond sighed after a deep breath. "Red, yellow, black, or white, a child has the divine right to be a child. Despite the world around us, politicians and the militaries shouldn't choose who should fight on the battlefield. A child shouldn't have the privilege to fight for their homeland, not while they're still innocent. How will they learn to live and to love? They couldn't!

"You better not get me wrong, Drazen. You're still a murderer, a -rodef-. You chose to utterly reject the Lord's way in favor of your own terrorist fervor. It's too late for you, but it's not too late for other children stuck where you were! They still have a chance to turn their lives around. If you've ever done anything good with your life, then please… I'm begging you! Do not take that away from them!"

"I'd applaud your attitude, but I'm a hand short." He smiled, his precious pet dropped back into its nest. "But consider whether or not that the children you speak of will be completely without hate or murder in their hearts in today's disgusting materialistic century. Somehow I doubt it. People change along with the times; the flow of the ages corrupts them into darker shadows of their former self.

"This certain terrorist war will end. It cannot go on forever, no matter how much this dirty - rotten - inbred - filth wish different. This conflict will spark countless others, new hatreds will arise. When these mongrels go extinct, they will be replaced by new faces, new enemies to smite down and destroy! Life is but a nuclear chain reaction. It's almost tragic. Almost, not quite!

"This Temple Mount, these bullets in my Desert Eagle, my light machine gun…. There's a bullet for everyone, and a time and a place. An end…! Yep, this is how it has to be. The end's upon us, even as I speak. I die here, and the wheels of justice will inevitably start to turn. A shame you won't be around to see your precious country go up in flames!"

"You'd better believe that, Drazen." Bin-Mok agreed. "It's the end, all right. You're only down to your king piece. You're all out of moves! Just throw down your arms and come quietly. Mark my words, Uzi: you sure as hell aren't taking the easy way out! Not after all you did."

"Mark your words?" He blinked. "Hell - mark my words, and wipe my fucking ass, Bin-Mok! Have you been listening? This is the end. This is my destiny! And I'm not about to be dragged out of a patrol car and torn apart by a bunch of rabid mongrels! Besides, the world made its last move when they trashed the king. A valiant effort indeed, but I still have one last move to make before checkmate!"

Blondie's mud eyes shrank to specks on a bed of white. The steel revolver angled heavily to a side when that firm stranglehold weakened.

"The nuke!"

Yune was taken aback promptly.

"That's right." He smiled warmly. "When it goes off, it'll take everyone on site with it. You, me, the alpha mongrel, all of us will become dust and the Temple Mount be a toxic no-man's-land for years to come! The soldiers around your feet had given your government all the reason it needs to invade, and so will others! A shame I won't be here to take the fall. That's Mr. -Putz's- job, of course."

"Your wrath complete…." Yune growled. "Beautiful - just fucking beautiful!"

"Tell us where we can find the bomb!" the steel in Blondie's hands found use again, squared fingers strangling the grip. "Where'd you plant it?"

"Where is it?" the Asian demanded.

"Somewhere on this 35 acres." He sighed. "Don't worry, it's close by. Think you can find it? And just to make things interesting, I'll give you ten minutes!"

He took a handful of his cape - and the boy stamped a foot forward when the button snapped cleanly off his collar. The shroud became just another piece of cloth, flowing and flapping in the breeze as useless as the flag of green, white, red, and black. In a second it was lost to him, just another one of the many black puddles dappling the mount.

The looks on their faces were priceless, paralyzed for the moment in something that could have been seen on a variety show. He was sorry he didn't bring his camera; a cool prize purse would be his easily. It was so easy to touch the button on his vest - the most important button, as far as they knew. By the time the buffoon pushed the revolver just a little bit closer it was too late.

"What did you just do?" The boy demanded. "What is that?"

"Ten minutes, I said." He smiled warmly. "Of course, there's always a way to defuse a bomb, no matter how much the engineer tries to preemptively thwart the possibility. It would take at least two minutes to defuse the bomb, and luckily for you, there's a two-minute delay. In ten minutes time, the bomb's delay timer will activate but it'll be far too late to do anything. The nuke will detonate and irradiate the hell out of this place! But if you can either defeat or kill me within the initial ten minutes, you'll be able to deactivate the bomb in time. If you truly wish to save this disgusting mud-ball, you'd better win!"

"But no pressure?" the blond said sardonically.

"This is the final battle." His pet's time had come as he snatched him out of its narrow nest. He thumbed one of its only pressure points and his eagle took a hearty dump on the ground, its waste clattering at his feet. Its fresh suppository slapped inside easily enough. "Let's make it a good one. Let's make this the greatest ten minutes of our lives!"

"Uzi…!" Yune growled like one of the mongrels next door.

"Don't ever call me that again, yellow devil!" he barked back. "I am Uzziel Lichtenfeld Drazen, and I will be the last opponent you'll ever face!"

The piece of rotten -Kimchi- dropped into his typical Hapkido stance. The color of the boy's knuckles drained of their light color as those square hands strangled the pistol grip. The -CLANK- of his combat load shook the ground. The -POP- of his trusty rapier wasn't there, lost to the shifting breeze. The empty howl in his ears was a crescendo. The flames behind his last two opponents leapt eagerly for the red sky, the angry sun. Everything was as it should be.

It would make a fine arena for his final battle.

"So you want to make me pay?" he asked rhetorically. "Then - FACE ME!"


	46. Chapter 46

46

Kimberly's bleeding was bad, her shirt with the pink heart was like a tie-dye job gone horribly awry. Her nail file had made like a blade, ripping a ragged line down the pink chest and the redder belly. Certainly the girl would have Tara's head for it. Dignity still wrapped tightly around the auburn's chest, hiding and cupping those perky breasts by a gray sports bra while Robin tied those bloody rags around the belly. It wasn't sterile by far, but it was better than nothing.

"Just hold on." She coached nearby. "I bet you can hear me, Kim. Everything's going to be okay, but please hang on! Keep fighting! We nearly lost you once, and we're not letting it happen again."

"I have a certain feeling that she will be fine." Robin said through clenched teeth, hands straining with the ragged bloody square knot on Kim's wound. "But hemostatic medication would truly help her. If we only had some around."

"I've checked Sadie, but there's hardly nothing in there." She replied. "Just some band-aids and first-aid cream. What I wouldn't give for a field medic's kit right now."

"Do what you can for her, ladies." Mr. Chairman grunted painfully. Despite his affiliation, he seemed to be a pretty decent guy, patient with temperance regardless of what ailed him. "Though I must say that these bullets are getting the better of me."

"We understand, Sir." Robin's hands clasped over the knot, and her head dropped between her cream, rearing shoulders as she put her weight on. "But I must keep the pressure upon this wound. This bleeding simply will not stop. Tara, is it possible for you to help the Chairman?"

"Right." She nodded. "I'll do what I can."

Mr. Abd-al-Latif had taken quite comfortably to the firm carpet, pressed on his belly, soiling his suit where the slick patches didn't reach. He looked at her while she trotted for him. The brown eye tired and weathered yet brimming with placidness, the kind of temperance that the region was in dire need of. There was hope for peace after all.

"Hello, Mr. Chairman." She smiled as she took a knee beside him. "I'm Tara Stark, if you hadn't already guessed."

"Hello,Ms. Stark." He smirked weakly back. "I'm Chairman Habib Abd-al-Latif - or Habib Abdul-Latif if Abd-al is too odd for your tongue. You will forgive me if I am not more pleasant. Bullet wounds are quite painful, especially if you were to let them be."

"I understand." She said. "And that's why I'm here."

"Good." The Chairman replied. "These rounds are really getting on my nerves. Being shot is one thing. Becoming a paraplegic is a whole other story. Often I would miss my legs."

"Don't worry, Mr. Chairman." With her thin file in hand, she took the cuff of one of his pants' legs into the other. She slipped the pointy file inside through the leg's cuff. She strained, her muscles flexed - and the straight rip through the cloth caused them to ease. She parted the cloth all the way up to the back of his knee before she took to the other. "Gangrene's not settling in on my watch. I'll guaren-damn-tee it."

The tanned calves were shades darker than the rest of his legs, tissue swollen, protruding a few inches out around two blood-caked dots punched right into the meat. Bleeding seemed to be light, lighter than what she thought it was, fresh crimson peeking at her from deep inside little cracks in the nasty crust like lava.

"Bleeding's not even a trickle." She noted aloud. "The rounds don't seem to have touched any major arteries. I think I can dig them out."

"'Dig'?" the gentle eye blinked. "What do you mean 'dig'?"

"Figure it out, Mr. Chairman." Only now did she realize how handy a nail file could really be. Its sharp tip found favor in her eyes as she moved it for the closest puncture wound. "Just let me do my thing unless you want a visit from Uncle Fester."

"You have an uncle named Fester?" the man replied quizzically. "America's full of funny sorts of people."

"From my time with them, Mr. Chairman," Robin graciously replied for her, "I have a strong feeling that you should not take it literally. Nothing is as what it seems to be in their slang. I have found that out the harder way."

"She's right." She nodded. "Just relax. It'll be over before you know it."

"I doubt it." He sighed. "I have been shot before, and it is hardly over that quick. You Americans rely too much on expedient processes and ready-made equipment, if you ask me."

She frowned. The pointy tip of her file dropped just a bit closer to the wound.

"Actually, I didn't ask you at all." She turned purposefully away. "In fact, I - HOLY SHIT! THE MAJOR!"

That gentle eye shot open. Frozen limbs beside were instantly thawed, revived, pushing the Chairman up to a half arch. His shaking head helped his eyes dart around the sanctuary, looking for any malignant presence apart from his own. She did it; her hasty plan worked perfectly. The pointy tip of that file pierced into the edge of the crusty dot just a little bit easier.

"-OW! -" Mr. Chairman yelped. "-CHARRA ALAIK, ANASI! -"

"I have no idea what you said," she shrugged amusingly, "but I bet it wasn't nice!"

"Ha…!" Robin sniggered softly. "That is because it was not, Tara. I may not be fluent, but I know enough Arabic to know what that means."

"What does it mean?" she asked, probing her file around a little more rigorously. The Chairman groaned. Something was there, all right. She could feel it, feel it in her fingers when the tip tapped against something hard and smooth, too smooth and too close to the skin for bone. It couldn't be bone, the way it flanged out underneath the file's tip. "Do I want to know?"

"No, I do not believe you do." The girl replied. "Crude and nasty indeed."

"Thought as much." She shrugged. "Just remember, Mr. Chairman: those who cure can too make ill."

"Super." He moaned. "Just my luck."

"Hey, in order to yank these suckers out, I have to stick you." The Chairman growled back when she surged a little more pressure on the file. The projectile wiggled against it with the flexibility of a loose tooth, and hopefully it would come out as easily. Mr. Abdul-Latif surely wasn't a little kid anymore; he looked to be about in his mid-60s. "So I stick you."

"Goody!" he groaned. "Like my days in the security forces all over again."

"Hold on, you big baby." Her tongue gave her lips a fresh coat of saliva. With a little twitch, she drove the tip past the round. Her file became a crowbar, the thin sliver in her hands arced to her torque. The crusty dot pulsed with every yank, a bony piece angled away from her a little more each time. "I almost got - there!"

A mushroom was in bloom on Mr. Chairman's leg. It must have belonged to a poisonous group of fungi, certainly would be deadly if it had taken root in a vulnerable place on the man's body. Her fingers taking it by the twisted, solid cap, she uprooted it with a firm tug. It rattled on the carpet like a marble when she flicked it away.

"There goes one." She noted.

"Praise Allah for that." The man breathed. "Could you be a help and yank that other one out?"

His crimson flowed into that ragged cavity, pooling closer to the lopsided brim with every beat of the old man's heart. It over flowed, trickling up his foreleg to the back of the knee when she tore the ripped cloth straight off. She folded the cloth over. Doubling its thickness just like Yune had shown her, and a black dot deepened on the cloth when she tied it around his calf.

"That should do it." Her nails picked the file off the carpet and into her fingers. "I'm moving on to the second leg."

She yanked the second torn piece jaggedly off the rest of his suit, doubling the cloth over for later. Mr. Chairman let out another yelp when she stabbed that bloody file into brim of the second dot.

"You utterly -love- surgery, don't you." Mr. Chairman whined.

"I do what I have to, Sir." She shrugged, the file probing around his flesh. "I don't really like the sight of blood, but I carry on anyway."

"Could have had me fooled, young one." The man moaned. "To think I thought all you American women were simply a bunch of sadists."

"Funny," her tongue swathed her lips again, "some American men do! It's probably why some marry people of different countries. I know a high school senior who's engaged to a Welshwoman."

"A gentleman slummer?" he asked.

"Please, he's too good for that." She shook her head. "A xenophobe and misunderstood at times, but probably one of the more genuine people you'll ever meet."

"Interesting…." He replied. "From PATV and al-Jazeera, you looked like a country of regular Mandingos."

She gave her file a little twist. Mr. Abdul-Latif growled painfully.

"Talking bad about your nurse's country, Mr. Chairman?" She frowned. "Never wise."

"I was not implying that America is!" He exclaimed. "But one would not know it on my side of the fence. Always bantering that Israel is the enemy and that America is the Great Satan, it is clear why young children grow up longing to be -shahid-."

"'-Shahid-'?" she blinked.

"Martyr, if you like." He said. "But after my predecessor's passing, I wish to change that. Hardliners will scoff, of course, but it is time that we wake up from our delirium. Israel and America are not the real enemies. They were not, they are not, and hopefully they will never be. Instead, they have tried to help us, and we like brats have turned around and threw it in their faces.

"Jews and Muslims used to be somewhat friends. We have both suffered Christendom at its worst, and we still do not use the cross in our arithmetic. But now, in the 21st century, we have adopted the Christians' archaic ways and persecuted both the Jew and the Christian. We have become no better than murderers, responsible for the deaths of hundreds of thousands. It all came to a bloody head in Beslan."

"I know." She nodded somberly. "Those poor children…. They'll probably hate school for the rest of their lives."

"Yes, our murderous sons and daughters are the direct result of our twisted culture." He shook his head. "Beslan was when it hit me, and this -intifada-. We cannot continue this fight. By constantly playing the victims, so rabid for revenge, we've killed our souls! And now one of the Jews has thrown all restraint to winds by trying to kill us all. Allah, have mercy on us!"

"It's not over till it's over, Mr. Chairman." Her file's quest for the projectile was a success. Already she had the tip past the round, ready to pry. "Two people are out there right now, trying to stop him. Two against one, I'd say he's pretty much done for."

"I hope you are right—!" the Chairman reply was cut off by her yank. "OW!"

"Sorry!"

A bony protrusion angled out of the dot, blood oozing from the point tip like lava in a volcano. Her file bent to her will, arcing with every pull. It wasn't long till that protrusion blossomed into another ugly mushroom, and another piece of scrap when she tugged it out of the poor man's leg. Easily she tied her doubled-over cloth around the limb, and a dot deepened on the makeshift bandage.

"All done." She wiped her file against her hip-huggers. Of course it would stain, but that simply didn't matter right now. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Of course it was!" Mr. Chairman rolled to his backside. Walking over to the fallen lanky man, she took the initiative, taking his boots into her hands and dragging him close to the old man's legs. One by one, she placed the crook of his legs atop the cadaver. The second lieutenant was a good one, after all. "Gunshot wounds are never fun."

"Isn't that the truth." She agreed, feeling the edge of her foot tingle. "I got shot on the foot about a month ago. Thankfully the bullet just grazed it, but it still packed a punch."

"Ouch." He replied blindly, his head angled up, tired eyes transfixed on his legs. "But I must say, your medical techniques were great! Where on earth did a girl like you learn to do this?"

Her shoulders were pulled back as the backs of her hands rested against her butt.

"My boyfriend." She smiled warmly.

"I see…." Mr. Chairman nodded. "America's truly is a frightening country."

"Having second thoughts already?" she angled her head inquisitively.

"No, of course not." He replied. "But did you have to rip my suit? It is Armani! It took me many months to save up for it."

"Couldn't you have paid for it out of your predecessor's deep pockets?" she asked. "He was just behind the Queen of England as one of the world's richest people."

"No, I would rather not soil myself further using that dirty money." He shook his head solemnly. "That money belongs to my people. Europe and America have pooled their resources for our betterment, but my idiot predecessor took it all for himself and his yes-men. Not once did he share his bank accounts or codes with anyone - a double-edged sword, really. The funds are probably lost forever to us, but at least the terrorists won't get their bloody hands on it."

"Likewise, his prissy trophy wife will not get it either…" Robin nodded, "I hope."

"If Drazen succeeds in his plan, it will not matter anymore." Mr. Chairman said soberly. "Money is quite worthless on a nuclear-baked planetoid. Millions and billions will die, even at the far corners of the earth, and the stolen money and Unknown's Legacy will go up with the first blast."

"Unknown's Legacy?" she blinked. "What are you talking about?"

"Yes, indeed." Robin said. "What or whom are you speaking of, Mr. Chairman?"

"Unknown's Legacy." He said again. "You have not heard about The Unknown?"

"No." she shook her head. "Why should I've heard of something that's not even known to begin with?"

"I agree." Robin said. "I have no idea what you are talking about either."

"Of course." Mr. Chairman said. "I am not surprised that you do not know whom I am speaking of. In fact, only recently have I heard about it, and even then it was in passing. The stupid ex-chairman trying to haul it all for himself! Probably it is why he ordered those recent attacks.

"During the last Great War, as you know, blueprints and tactics were drawn for ways to defeat the Axis and reestablish peace across the world. The soldiers of the allies put these plans into action along with several influential resistance groups, the French Resistance and the Black Hand as you may have heard."

"Yes," she nodded, "World War 2 wasn't just one man's war, it was everybody's war. My grandfather left for America during the -Anschluss-, even fought against his homeland. He's Austrian, you see."

"True." The man continued. "But during the war, a travesty in one fellow's homeland brought him into serious action. He was a special fellow, credited by helping the allies defeat the Axis as well as suggesting the reestablishment of the Jewish homeland. Of course, you would not find this in a history book. Hell - even I am not sure about it, but with Uzziel Drazen running about, you cannot deny the possibility.

"The 'legends' - if you will - state that a miner's son was forced into action when his hometown was destroyed by the Nazis, retaliation for 'The Hangman's' demise. The men shot where they unwillingly stood while the woman and children hauled of to the nearest death camp. The buildings he grew up with were gone, leveled to the ground."

"A miner's son?" Robin shot him a curious look. "'The Hangman?' Mr. Chairman, are you speaking of the tragedy of Lidiche?"

"The very same." He nodded back. "Hatred burned violently in the young man's heart, swearing to his god that those who did it would pay dearly. That hatred fueled him to take on the Axis, eventually leading to its inevitable defeat. Hiroshima and Nagasaki: the last real victory your country ever had. The war was over. With Zionism at its peak and the Nazi atrocities brought to light, it was time for the Jews to reestablish their home. That idea swelled in many, but it also too swelled in the young man. He believed it like religion. It was probably why he pushed Ben-Gurion in the first place."

"This 'young man' was The Unknown?" she asked.

"Yes." He said. "Possibly one of the greatest warriors Israel's ever known, next to Lichtenfeld himself."

"Drazen?" she blinked.

He shrugged.

"I was thinking of the -other- Lichtenfeld, but I guess that is possible. He was a warrior indeed, but his resentment of Lidiche only fueled with rage. He could not get over it. Wrath consumed his soul, and with the arrogant resolve of the USSR drove him mad. He threatened to nuke Moscow off the face of the earth and nearly succeeded. Someone had thankfully stopped him."

"Who was that?" Robin asked.

"I do not know." He replied. "The records are lost to the wind just as The Unknown's birth name. The only thing we can be sure of was his opponent's name was 'Nancy'—"

For the first time since they had stormed in, Kim finally spoke.

"Na… na…?" the auburn breathed. "Nana…?"

Her makeshift clogs took the lead, rushing her over to the fallen girl. She took a knee beside her. The skin around the bloody knot may have been white as snow; her peachy disposition gradually was coming back to her. Into her own, she took Kimberly's closest hand, giving it a squeeze. Cold definitely, but it wasn't as icy, sort of like fresh water.

"Kim!" she exclaimed. "Kim! You're still alive!"

"She is indeed, my friend." Robin eased herself off the knot. "The bleeding has stopped for now, but I must insist you not jostle her in the least. A sudden move could tear the scab open again."

Kim's eyes batted, blinking some sense back into her head. Gently her head rocked on the carpet, hearing her locks shift and rub against each other and the carpet.

"Where… am - I…?" the auburn groaned. "Am I dead…?"

"No." She shook her head vigorously. "No, no, no - far from it! You're alive, Kim. You're still alive! Just stay awake. Don't go to sleep on us!"

"Drazen!" Kim snapped. The girl tried to sit herself up, but a dark hand on the forehead kept her down. "Where's…?"

"Outside." Robin replied. "Ronald and Yune are handling him as we speak. Please, calm yourself down. Do not stress your—!"

"DRUGS!" Kim shook her head furiously. The grasp on Tara's hand became a tight vice.

"No, Kim." She said. "No drugs for you. We don't have any, and you're too weak even if we did."

"No…." the girl breathed. "Don't understand—! Don't - LET him take - drugs! Too… STRONG!"

The dark girl pleaded. "Kimberly, please calm yourself—!"

"No…!" Kim writhed and struggled futilely against them. The girl's sudden weakness wasn't much of a bad thing after all. "NO! I can't…! No - time…."

"Kimberly, through thick or thin, there's always going to be enough time!" She yelled sternly. "If you're worried about Drazen, the boys can handle it. Now you get a grip on yourself or we'll be forced to restrain you! Got it?"

"Can't do this…!" Kim whined. "No time—! The NUKE!"

She gasped. Mr. Chairman cursed again in his native tongue.

"She is hysterical!" Robin dismissed. "Her fight maybe over, but there is still a fight waging in her head. I do not know how much longer I can keep a hold on her."

"No, she's not." Mr. Chairman replied. "I had completely forgotten about that!"

She turned her head for him, shooting him a look.

"What do you mean, Mr. Chairman?" her lids parted wider all on their own. "There really IS a nuke on site?"

"I am afraid so, ladies." He pulled himself up to a sit. Kim's death-grip eased, her hand slipping out of her own. "I am sorry. I should have told you sooner, but the pain was overwhelming."

"He's serious about destroying this place?" she shrieked.

"Apparently so," the Chairman nodded, "but not in the way you would typically think."

"Typically think?" her eyes crossed. "What's to think about? He plans to murder thousands of people!"

"No, not the thousands he would like." He shook his head. "He plans to leave them for the war to come. The blast radius of the device is only a couple hundred yards at best - an ERW. Have you ever have heard of a neutron bomb?"

"What is the difference?" Robin asked. "They sound the same to I."

"This weapon was designed to reduce collateral damage by exposing the opposition to lethal amounts of intense radiation within a localized area." He explained. "Organic material such as plants, animals, and humans will dissolve instantly within the vapor zone while the surrounding structures like buildings will be irradiated. The blast can be up to a couple to several hundred yards, depending upon the amount of red mercury."

"What would that do?" she asked. "Certainly we'd be dead, but this sanctuary and the mosques would remain. Drazen's everything would be for nothing."

"Not exactly, Tara." Robin shook her head. "It would not be that simple. Drazen is not like that. He knows what he is doing."

"True." Mr. Chairman agreed. "The Noble Sanctuary would remain, but the radiation would contaminate the Temple Mount for decades. Looking at it from afar, not being able to lay eyes upon the Noble Rock: Drazen's final mockery. It would be the blackest smudge on our history. It would scorn the Muslim world, blinded by rage, driving them to the sword and the AK. The world will surely fall."

Mr. Abdul-Latif cried not though it would certainly be understandable. He simply let out a sigh, defeat thick in the tired breath. Dreams, hope, and progress shattered like stained glass. If anyone tried to glue it back together, they'd cut themselves deeply. Everything was for nothing, chasing the wind the entire time.

"Wait—" Kim coughed. "Wait…. Don't give up! It's not over yet."

"I know." She nodded back. "But what're we going to do? I've done what I can, but we're out of moves!"

"It seems all we can do is wait, Tara." Robin eased gently off Kimberly. Her dark hand was gone, hidden by the cream of her sweats and the peachy skin of Kim's hand. Dark digits curled around the back of the peachy hand, and carefully she hoisted the auburn up to a sit. "Wait and pray. I would go away to the Western Wall, but alas, I have forgotten my talis."

"Not to mention the gates of Hell opened up right outside." She smirked weakly.

"The bomb." Kim breathed. "I know where it is…."

"You do?" She batted her eyes incredulously.

"We both do, ladies." Mr. Abdul-Latif replied. "It is defiling the Noble Rock as we speak, soiling it inside the comfort of a woodland-print backpack. You cannot miss it, really, though it is hard to see it through the fencing."

"And just when were you going to spill that?" she folded her arms crossly. "Hmm…?"

"I was in pain, remember." He shrugged. "And she was unconscious."

"Oh yeah." She let them fall to her sides.

"Forget about it, Tara." Robin said. "Now that we know where it is, what are we going to do with it?"

"Get it out of here, for one." Kim said. "We at least have to try. But I don't know what Drazen did to it, like install a proximity trigger."

"Booby traps." Robin said. "Even if it does not, this is still a holy place. It is bad enough that we are in here, but I would rather not desecrate it further."

"Forget about that, ma'am." The Chairman replied. "While your civility is admirable, do you honestly believe that respecting this stone would make but a shred of difference today? Do not worry about it. If we survive today, I will order the Waqf to drop the matter should any case arise."

Kim took in a deep breath, letting it sit before her lungs squeezed it out.

"Looks like it's up to you, Tara—"

Her eyes boggled.

"Huh?"

"You heard me, Tara." Kim said. "I'm still too weak. Mr. Chairman's been shot, and Robin's tending to my wounds. Besides, what else have you got to do?"

"Live!" she yelped. "That's what I got to do! I've never touched a bomb before, let alone a nuclear one!"

"I won't have you dismantle it, T." Kim shook her head. "That's not possible - not even for me! But we at least need you to take a look. Maybe we can figure something out from there."

Kim's hand slipped into her pocket. A thick, flat bulge fattened… then deflated on her leg when her hand came back out, her funky, clunky PDA in hand. It made like a Frisbee, spinning for her swiftly. It would have clunked her right on the crown if she didn't have the sense to catch it a moment before.

"This thing again." She gave it the once-over. It looked the same as always, high-resolution screen above four directional pads encircling a singular red nub. "No Webmaster this time?"

"Forget about that." Kim dismissed. "It's been set to its scanning function. Just hold it away from the target at arm's length and push the red button. The Kimmunicator will do the rest. When it's done, it should give you an x-ray image and an analysis."

"Okay." She reluctantly pocketed it, snug as a bug in her hip-huggers. "But if this thing goes off, I don't want to hear any bitching in the hereafter! Got it?"

"All right," Kim smirked faintly back, "we'll do our best."

XXX

Drazen was cornered literally.

It seemed to be over mere minutes from when it began. Metal-head's bulky, cumbersome back was to the low wall, his body slumping against it. That black -tubular- chest heaved. The loose tubes that pierced his limbs tapped and scraped against others with each haggard breath. Amazing, simply amazing! Who'd have thought that Monkey Kung-Fu would actually work!

Yune was at a knee, knuckles drained of his trademark tan as they pressed against the ground for support, sucking in some well-deserved breath. Sure, Ron could have managed on his own if he'd have to, but it wouldn't have been over this quickly if it were not for the Korean, Hapkido and all. Drazen had gotten in some hits, blows as serious as an elbow to the cheek, but even his reputed wizardry in -Krav Maga- lasted him only for so long.

"No…!" Uzi pushed himself away from the wall, stumbling like a drunk. "It's not over yet…! Things can't end this way! I am -Dajjal-, and I SAY THEY WON'T! YOU HEAR ME, BOYS?"

"Aw - do us a favor and shut the fuck up, Drazen!" he whined back. "How long are you going to keep this up, HUH? It's over - JUST ACCEPT IT!"

"Now," Yune interjected, "you can take off that ridiculous outfit and come with us or you can go with the Palestinians! It's your last choice, Uzi. Be sure to make it a good one."

"NEVER!" the metal head's nasty face twisted into a hideous mask of fury. "Death is art - MY ART! It is my destiny!"

"I don't think you really believe that." He shook his head. "You just want the easy way out, not have to suffer the consequences of your despicable actions. How easy it is just to simply run away from every mess you yourself had left for others to clean up."

"You little shit…!" the metal-head predictably seethed.

"We're not the shits, Uzziel." He retorted pointedly, the exclamation mark a simple point of his finger. "You are! You're just a murderous coward like Bin-Laden, and that's the only way this region will ever remember you—!"

"HOW DARE YOU!" Drazen stomped his foot. "To nihilism devotees - I'M A MOTHER-FUCKING PATRIOT!"

Drazen's good eye darted to the corner. His .44-caliber eagle sat on its flank on the ground nearby, suckling on a brass grub no further than a yard away. The punk made like Superman, diving for the bird of prey. Ron brought up his pistol at eyelevel, finger taking up all the slack a hair trigger could offer—!

BLAM! -

There was the thunderous clap, the pistol bucking against his palm before it let out a smoky wisp of breath. Embers sparked fleetingly on the ground, the round ricocheting at the eagle's ass with a -ZING-, and the eagle promptly skittered away. Drazen got only a fist full of rocks on his way down.

"-DRECK! -" The metal-head cursed, gracing the ancient stone with a hammer fist, trembling with… he didn't know what. It quivered like a leaf in the breeze. "Oh…!"

"You're going to feel like -dreck- in a minute, Drazen." Yune warned. "Give up!

Drazen pushed himself back up to weak feet by a shaky arm. That quivering hand shot to his face, trembling on his strange flesh while his feet stumbled him any which way possible. Sparkling luster was dimming on that hazel orb.

"Oh…." Drazen moaned through loose lips. "My - HEAD!"

"What?" He dropped the revolver to 45 degrees.

"Motion sick—!" Uzi's words squeezed through a tightening throat. His wavering stumble jostled him closer to the southern wall, -dangerously- closer. "Too much—! Can't… control!"

"Is he faking?" he asked.

"Can't take the risk either way!" Yune exclaimed. "Uzziel, stand still! We'll get you help, just don't—!"

Uzziel's thumb slipped and slid over a glossy red button in the palm, yet the metal-head had not the strength to push it down. His uncontrollable stumbling moved him precariously backwards, practically teetering on the edge of sudden death's nasty precipice. Ron knew well what a fall off the southeastern section meant, that undulated slope with the dappling rocks—

—Uzi's leg got caught on the wall in the middle of a back-step. —

—And Ron could see it for himself. Gravity yanked at Uzi through that cumbersome load-bearing vest, pulling at him by the sloshing tanks! Drazen's whole body was but a black smear as it vanished behind the wall. The metal-head let out a horrible wail - and an abrupt, soft explosion from below silenced him completely!

His stomach churned, intestines worming into knots as he rushed over to the wall. Yune quickly took the lead and nearly joined Drazen if his feet didn't grind him to a sudden halt. The flat mat of black hair loomed over the precipice slowly. A shake of the mat and a sigh thick with disgusted exasperation told him all he needed to hear.

"Drazen, Drazen, Drazen…!" Yune bowed his head. "Why…?"

He had caught up to him just then. Yune wiped his brow with the back of a hand, the shaking of his head spiteful in sheer defeat. Why, he knew - or at least thought he did. Placing the ball of a foot just behind the absolute edge, he leaned himself over the wall.

He wasn't missing anything at all. If he did, then it would be something he was better off passing up. He cringed disgustedly.

"-Oy! -" Victory's taste soured in his mouth. "What a mess!"

After that spill, Drazen had to be dead. Spooning a bloodied rock at the peak, the punk's final pose left a real something to be desired within him. The body was there; the blood was there, those pale green tanks seemed a little more empty - but... that was it. Where was the victory? Where was jubilation's soothing caress? Did it too die along with Uzziel, Alexander maybe? Despite the flames lapping behind him, all he felt was… cold.

Slick, wet cold that trailed down every inch of my being just like rain. Just like Alexander's final battle all over again. -

"-Blah…! -" His little buddy sounded like he wanted to vomit.

"You little fucker!" Yune seethed bitterly. "I should have just grabbed you and HAULED YOUR ASS IN! You were faking that shit, WEREN'T YOU?"

"Don't know." He shrugged back. "Did he or not?"

Yune's growl hit him more like a moan; hit him like a firm tap to the forehead.

"Not now, Ronald." Yune took back his hand with a frown.

"I know, I know." He nodded. "But let's get back. We've wasted enough time with Uzi. We still got his little present to take care of before it goes off!"

"Yeah, you're right." Yune folded his arms. "Drazen may have gotten off easy, but there's no time to stew over it."

"Yeah," he blinked, "that's what I just said!"

"Come on, Ron." The Asian pushed himself away from the edge. "Let's get back to the sanctuary. I bet that's where he hid the device."

"He - huh!" His little buddy replied for him. "You got it!"


	47. Chapter 47

(Possibilty of a sequel's up in the air right now, but for those reading who want to try their luck at writing one - by all means be my guest. Just drop me an email so we can spare any possible unpleasantries. Just don't start to write right away; there are a few more chapters that need posting first.

(Godhand's Number)

47

Analysis of the device wasn't as easy as Kimberly simply had put it. Tara had to jump on the sacred boulder from atop the thick fencing, the rough stone picking at her palms, scratching at the naked soles of her feet. Thankfully, the pack jolted not as she pulled herself to the rock's peak. Yet with the tap of that little red button on the PDA, a lime-green beam glared from the device's IR port, a flat and wide one that swept the pack top to bottom with a single pass. "Analyzing…" stared back at her from that screen, emblazoned in white over a dark shade of Team Possible's logo.

"Analyzing, Kim." She said.

"Well, what do you know?" Kim's retort was bitterly saturated. "You can read."

"Hey!" she frowned back. "If you want to do this, then be my guest! I still don't understand why I couldn't do this from the fence."

"Because the Kimmunicator needs to be in close proximity to the target, Tara." Kim explained after a deep breath. The auburn leaned herself back against, an arm outstretched behind her like a kickstand. "It can only be away at arm's length at max. I tried it once during a mission and I kept getting error messages."

"Next time, I think I'll keep my shoes on." She rubbed at a tender sole with her free hand. "The things I do for friendship."

"At least you will make the Palestinians a little bit happier." Robin was transfixed with the nasty rags around Kim's waist. "That is not just a rock you are sitting on, you know. It is probably the most important rock to Islam, next to the -Ka'ba- in Mecca."

"At least Allah will look favorably down upon you for doing that, Ms. Stark." Mr. Abdul-Latif seconded. "Despite the madness outside, you have shown him courtesy by respecting The Prophet's rock."

"I hardly think the Muslims won't get irate when they find out an 'infidel' was in their holy place, let alone the rock." She replied. "Seething, foaming at the mouth while they picture me taking a sit on this stone - it's a vivid image! I just hope that image doesn't lead to my early demise."

"Do not worry about it, Ms. Stark." Mr. Chairman shook his head. "Though I would rather be honest with my people, there are just some things that are better left unsaid."

"I hope so—!" The PDA chirped at her--and thin lines of green drew a boxy image on the screen. Small lines of letters and words typed out too on the screen, flanking the image wherever they could fit. "Ah - analysis is complete!"

"Great." Kim replied. "What's it say?"

"Uh…." She squinted. Of all the times she needed her reading glasses; she should have packed them. "Not really sure…. It's hard to sift through all this BS."

"Try harder." The auburn put it simply, irritatingly enough. "Just say the first thing that makes the most amount of sense. That's what I always do."

"Okay."

She felt her brow perk while she peered at the screen. Skimming had turned out to be a useful technique; something her English teacher had taught her that was actually useful for a change. Skim: it wasn't just for milk anymore, and it had paid off. Throughout the small blocks of neon text, two letters constantly popped out to her like a whack-a-mole.

"Here's something." She lifted up a finger. "'Hg'. It keeps popping up all over the place. Does it mean anything?"

"Mercury." Mr. Chairman nodded. "You are looking at a neutron bomb, Ms. Stark. Of course you are going to find mercury in the core of the device, though it's been highly irradiated with other materials."

"Okay." She nodded. "But even at its base?"

"What'd you mean?" Kim asked.

"It says right here." She tapped the screen. "There's the 'Hg' with a line pointing at the bottom of the bomb. There's nothing really at the foot of the bomb. It looks like empty space with some sort of pan structure. I don't know why. Maybe it's to cook dinner, though the mercury would definitely kill you!"

Kim jolted herself forward, off her mock kickstand completely.

"Crap!"

"What?" she blinked defensively. "Did I read it wrong or something?"

"No." Kim shook her head furiously. "You didn't."

"What's it mean then?" she asked.

"It's a mercury switch." Kim said. "It's designed blow the bomb should anyone manhandle it. If the quicksilver touches the receptors simultaneously, it'll complete the circuit and trigger detonation. You've done what you can, Tara. Get down from there. Touch the pack and we'll be floating with the dust motes!"

"Then what the hell are we supposed to do?" she asked crossly, easing herself up carefully to her feet. "Wait for the end?"

The bones in her legs crashed into each other, rearing up painfully to her hips when her soles flattened against the floor. She then wisely took her time climbing atop the enclosure.

"I don't know what else we can do." The auburn sighed. "We gave it our best. And Drazen, that goddamn piece of shit! All we can do now is hope that the boys took care of him."

"And took care of him we did, KP!"

All looked for the doors, eyes following that voice to where it came before the Noble Sanctuary had its way. If life were like a movie, this would be the protagonists' moment of victory. The wicked had surely fallen at the hands of the two heroes, standing valiantly in the portal despite their weary posture. Like the woman in waiting, she hopped off the fence, rushing for her man with open arms in the lead.

She practically squeezed her man into herself.

"GOOD - to see you too… Tara!" Yune breathed, his words squeezing out of his body. "Please! Let me go…!"

"Oh!" her arms went limp, falling to her sides again. "Sorry about that."

"It's okay, T." He took in a fresh breath, letting it sit before he blew it out. "My ribs are a little sore though."

"I said you should have taken it easy." She folded her arms. "But did you listen to me? Not just no, Yune - but -hell- no!"

"Like I said," Yune rubbed his side gently, "good to see you too."

"Kim!" Ron exclaimed, rushing for the girl quickly as though the fire outside left an ember on his back pocket. "You're still alive!"

"Yeah." The auburn held the boy's wrapped arms with a soft embrace. "It wasn't my time to go just yet. What about Drazen though? What happened to him?"

"Drazen…." Ron drew it out purposefully. All eyes locked on to the blond expectantly. "He… took a trip! Yes, that's it. Took a nice long trip."

"Ask a silly question, Kim." she felt her eyes roll. "Looking at the boys right now, I think it's safe to say that they won the fight."

"This bodes well, yes friends?" Robin pushed herself to her boots.

"Not quite." Yune shook his head. She felt her innards cringe. "Drazen's gone, surely, but he activated the bomb!"

The quiet sanctuary wasn't quiet anymore, erupting in a choir of discord.

"WHAT?" the sanctuary seemingly shouted back.

"Um - Ow…." her man picked at his ear.

"What'd you mean?" Kim would have leapt to her feet if it weren't for Ron. "The bomb's alive?"

"Yes, I'm afraid." Yune nodded grimly. "The punk flipped the switch before the fight, and that was five minutes ago. We've got five more minutes before the delay timer kicks in! And if that happens, we're as good as dead."

"Delay timer?" The auburn pushed her love's arms out of the way, easing herself to her feet with Robin's help. "Does that mean it can be diffused?"

"That's what Uzi said." Ron nodded. "But I'd trust him like I would with the UN."

"What does that mean?" she asked. "What can we do?"

"Separate the red mercury core from the detonation charge." Her man replied. "There's going to be an explosion, of course, but that can't be avoided."

"It won't go nuclear then?" Kim put a hand to her square knot.

"That's the idea." Her man said.

"Good idea, but it's not going to be easy." The auburn shook her head. "Drazen sure as hell didn't have it made that way."

"Booby traps?" those almond eyes went wide.

"A mercury switch." She nodded. "At the very bottom of the bomb. One wrong move and we're dead!"

"Switch or not," Yune shrugged, "we still have to try. The more we yak, the less time we've got. Where's the bomb at?"

She waved her hand for the boulder behind her.

"Where do you think, Yune?" she asked.

"Pompous as always." Her man sighed. "That's Drazen for you."

Yune shifted to her right, sidestepping her completely - and he was already halfway to the fencing when she turned around. Hopping that fence like an oversized hurdle… he disappeared completely behind it. There was a loud -THUNK- not a split second later.

"Aw - damn Keds!" Yune cursed gruffly. Hushed sniggers snorted out around her. She would have laughed any other day. "Tara, do you have to be barefoot for - EVERYTHING?"

"Sorry!" she called back, jogging for the hurdle. "I forgot."

"Forget it." He moaned.

That noggin of black, flat hair popped back over the fencing, and his limbs flattened against the rock. The hands clenched - and with a huff, he hoisted himself up just as her palms touched the top of the fence. Yune was at the backpack when she cleared the hurdle again.

"Tara!" he frowned disparagingly. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Helping!" she smiled back. She found her sneakers less than a reach away, her feet slipping in through the flattened heel cups effortlessly. "What would you want me to do?"

"Get back over the fence!" he said. "Pronto!"

"No." she shook her head. "I won't!"

Yune blinked incredulously.

"Excuse me?" his brow furrowed. His upper lip buckled like it was clef.

"Yune," she folded her arms, "if they said about this bomb is true, then being over the fence wouldn't do me any more good than standing right here! We'll be dust in an instant, I know. But I love you. I hate being apart from you even a second, let alone eternity. If it's our time to go, then let me go with you!"

"Tara…!" There was a grumbling drone, from both the pack's zipper and from her man. "Sweet as it is, it's not really the time for it…! I kind of have my hands full at the moment!"

"I know." She nodded. "That's why I'm here. If there's something that I can do, then let me do it! It'd be bad if God frowned on you because you wouldn't let me help."

"Oh - all right!" he groaned. "But don't screw around here."

"Don't worry." She smiled warmly. "I won't. Now, what do you want me to do?"

"Okay." He replied. "I'm going to attempt to remove the device. Do me a favor and keep the pack still. Can you reach it?"

"I think so." She reached for it, pushing her weight to the balls of her feet, her heels lifting the rest of her up. The thick soles of her shoes helped much. "Yeah."

"This is going to take some time." The tan hands disappeared into the depths of his pack. "Can you stay like that?"

"I'll… hold out for as long as I can." She took in a breath. "Just do your thing - and fast!"

"Bomb disposal's a slow process, T." he replied. "It'll take as long as it takes. Besides, you'll get good exercise this way. Maybe even refine your foot posture for kicks!"

"Joy!" she groaned—!

"Shit!" Ron shouted, the cry thick with panic. "I don't believe it!"

She turned her head as much as her spine would let her, pain pulsing in her head while her eyes strained to see. Ron seemed to be down in a posture like a crouch, one hand hidden by his body while the other was outstretched. His auburn love staggered away, while Robin… just stood there. The dark girl couldn't move like her boots were slapped with a fresh layer of cement.

But why, what was all the drama—

—"UZI!" Ron's pet rat practically shrieked. —

—About?

XXX

Drazen's head hurt. Drazen's head hurt badly. It hurt him so much. Not even the medicine could cure the headache. It was all gone. He thought his back felt a load lighter for some reason.

The enemy stood in front of him. They stood there brashly, mockingly. They made his head hurt. They stole his medicine! They would soon point and laugh at him. He couldn't have that - he wouldn't have that!

He hated them. He hated them so much! He wanted to make them pay for what they did to him. They must!

All of them must die, and die they shall!

XXX

Odd, this surely was. Where was the anger, where was the rage? Where was the bitter tirade, drunk with fury and broken pride? It wasn't stewing and bubbling in the stubborn ass before Ron's eyes. It simply wasn't there at all.

Drazen looked like a drunk after a late night out at the bar, stumbling against a column by the fallen doors for support. The black pants were gone, consumed by the blaze he had surely walked through. Not hopped, not skipped, not ran; walked, and the black patches of flesh on the limbs showed it clearly! Least the fire had shown civility, sparing the stubborn punk his boxer shorts. Unmentionables were named just so for a reason.

"How the hell…?" Yune asked uselessly.

"Don't know. Don't care!" He frowned. The metal in his pocket was useful once more when he trained it on the punk. "I don't care what you say, Yune. If this asshole wants to go to Hell so badly, I'd be happy to accommodate!"

"Ronald, take it easy." Robin walked beside him. Pressure fell upon the barrel like the dark girl's hand, forcing the gun to stare at the carpet. "He looks as though he is hurt."

"After a trip down the southern wall?" His glare narrowed as his brow furrowed. "That'd sure as hell knock you sideways!"

"Then a bullet to the leg is not necessary, Ron." The girl replied. "The fall and the fire already have taken the fight out of him. Leave him alone until the authorities can come."

"Leave him alone?" Kim said rhetorically, aptly. "Ha—! We should take care of him now! It'll just be harder later on."

"I don't believe that." Robin took a step forward. "He may have scarred me, but I still must do what I can. I owe at least that to the Lord."

Robin took another step, and another, and another till she was out of his reach. Kim tottered to his side. Annoying pain shot out when her head buried into his shoulder.

"Robin…." Kim breathed. "Get back here!"

"Kim, take it easy." He replied. "Don't push yourself."

"Not now, Ron." she frowned. "Robin - come on! Leave him alone!"

Uzi slipped off the column, flattening against the carpet like road-kill - and the glint of his tanks stabbed into his eye. He gasped, and dread's clammy touch twisted his innards a little more vigorously. Drazen's tanks: he had seen them before the punk took his trip, glinting rather greenly like the stuff back in the temperature lab. Now it glinted in the light rather cleanly… -too- cleanly.

Which means…! -

They both cursed.

"SHIT!"

"Robin!" he shouted. "Get over here - NOW!"

"Not now, friend." The girl casually waved her hand back. "I have work to do."

"You don't understand!" Kim pleaded. "The threat isn't gone! You have to retreat!"

"I am sorry, but I cannot." The tight ponytail swayed dramatically when the girl shook her head. Robin was within dangerous reach of Drazen, who was shoving himself to his wobbly feet. "I am compelled by the Lord to help whoever I can, friend or foe. I do not expect you to understand. But please, let me do--!"

Too late! Drazen had enough sense rattling in his brain to snatch the girl up single-handedly - way up at that! Uzziel had her by the throat. Robin's feet flapped, actually flapped like a fish's tail fresh out of water!

"Robin!" Tara exclaimed.

"Tara!" Yune yelped. "Watch the pack!"

XXX

The brown girl had it coming!

She turned the lieutenant against him - he was sure of it!

She would die - SHE HAD TO DIE!

Ha-ha-ha! No one was going to leave this city!

EVERYONE'S GOING TO DIE!

XXX

There was no time! Conditioning took control of his body, seized his arms, and clenched his hands around the spongy grip as he brought up the revolver. His index burning like the flames outside, he yanked the trigger back the full way. It bucked in his hand; the shot went too wide! A wispy cloud puffed out of the far column.

"Careful!" Kim exclaimed. "You could hit her!"

"Would—!" Robin coughed, her hands scratching futilely at Drazen's own. "Is this a bad time - to apologize?"

"Yes!" Kim shouted. "We're going to save you!"

"Friends…!" the girl gasped haggardly. Knuckles drained of color, a ghastly shade of white as Uzi's hand clenched tighter. "I… would like to say - that it has been a pleasure…!"

"NO!" He put Drazen's charred leg in the iron sights, forcing the stubborn trigger back again! Another wispy cloud puffed from the column! "DAMN! Shut up!"

"Robin, no." Kim begged. "Please no!"

"The Lord - will be with you always…." Robin smiled weakly - barely! "Do not be sad… for me. At least I… will see my Shia - again—!"

KRRACK! -

With but a wiggle of the bastard's hand, Robin was gone. Those warm dark eyes shunned him, rolling back into her head. Her mouth moved no more, spoke no longer the warm encouragement that made like music to his ears, simply hanging agape. The day the music died, and the musician was nothing more than a broken rag doll, crumpling to the carpet in a dead heap.

"No…!" A plop dumped beside him. Kim had fallen to her knees, hunched over the carpet while her weak arms offered her support. "No, no, no, no…!"

"Robin!" Tara sniffed. "No…!"

"Tara!" Yune barked. "Focus!"

"B-but…!" the blonde stuttered. "But—!"

"I know it sucks, but you have to focus!" Her man replied. "We still have to diffuse this sucker!"

"But--!"

"No buts!" Yune asserted. "Now let's do it!"

Ron eyes wandered never from the impulsive, volatile fiend. Uzziel was happy, insanely joyful with the toothy grin of a great white. He was hemorrhaging the love, the single hazel dull, brimming wetly with crimson, trickling down the mangled face around the shark smile… just like Tank Man.

"I'll keep him busy!" he called back. "Just defuse the nuke! Kimberly, take the Mr. Chairman! I want you two out of here now!"

"Huh?" She gave him back a dubious, wet glance. "You're taking him on by yourself - ARE YOU INSANE? Look what he did to Robin!"

"You're too weak to fight." He nodded gently. "You nearly died a few minutes ago. So as a Jew and too a survivor of The Family's treachery, I will be the one who finishes this!"

"But--!"

"I can take care of this!" he shouted. "Just - go!"

"Leave him to it, Ms. Possible." Mr. Chairman said. "While I maybe a Muslim, I shall have faith in him. I cannot explain why, I simply do."

"But!"

"You have heard this 'Yune' too, I believe." Mr. Chairman continued. "No buts! There is no choice to make here. Your caretaker has died, I am sorry. If you die, she would have died for nothing. You should honor her by doing what this man asks, even if it means to fall back. Please, if you have to do it then do it for her."

"…Okay." She pushed herself to her feet. "Let's go, Mr. Chairman."

Kim disappeared behind him for her to reappear before him moments later with Mr. Abd-al-Latif taking an arm around her neck.

"Fight like a warrior, Ronnie." Her emerald gaze hardly ever shimmered this clearly. "You have to win! DON'T - die on me…!"

"You got it." He smiled back. "Now go!"

XXX

Dark girl was too easy. He unsatisfied! Redhead girl would be challenge!

She has ugly head. Her ugly head made his head ugly! So he must kill her!

Beautiful when her blood stains carpet - just like the Muslim's!

Kill two mongrels with one stone - HE MUST!

XXX

Kimberly and the chairman hobbled for the door as fast as they could on their tired feet. They bobbed and weaved unnecessarily around Sadie, both taking in breaths deeply with every upswing of their upper bodies. They were but shadows before the consuming portal, their heights rivaled by lashing, fiery tongues, lapping for them hungrily. Still they ventured to them anyway, as though Hell itself was safer than here.

Drazen fell back against the column, the tanks ringing out in a sharp -TING- against the stone. The madman raised a fist in protest—

—And the column grumbled back, a loud rumbling that shook the sanctuary as the ancient stone recoiled Drazen's low blow. Ragged, thick lines of jet black stabbed out from under the madman's fist, racing erratically around the column - and thick puffs of powder white exploded out of those lines! Even at the top, another thick halo of white consumed the peak like a cloud.

He couldn't have said it - shouted it better.

"TIMBER—!"

The rumbling grew into a violent growl; the tall column fell away from the main structure like a falling tree! Kim and the chairman pushed with their feet, falling to their backs promptly. Several hot, flickering tongues were crushed. A few cut in half by the column itself, making like overgrown embers, the fluttering brief before the rippling air swallowed them up.

They were trapped! Through that thick, foggy noggin, Drazen somehow knew it too. The drugged loon pushed himself away from the ragged stump, lurching for his game. Kim shoved herself to her feet, extending Mr. Chairman a hand while the loony closed in a little more quickly. That shark grin grew wider, trickling blood fouled the enamel.

It'd be Kim's blood staining those teeth soon enough! He couldn't have that.

He lifted the .357 again, his grip finally firm, his arm finally steady. The foresight hardly wavered much away from Drazen's weaving head. His nerves were as hard as the claw hammer, the soothing clicks slowing the beat of his quickened heart in time's nick. Kim recoiled no more as Uzi stumbled within an arm's reach—!

BLAM!

A delicate blossom of red bloomed out of Drazen's crown fleetingly, dissolving in the air instantly! Uzi flopped against the fallen column. Hand in hand, Kimberly and Mr. Chairman wisely broke contact, hobbling around Sadie for cover. He did it; he had saved them both! The bullet was forged in God's favor - that must have been it!

"Get him?" his little buddy asked aptly.

"I… don't know." He felt his eyes roll up and to the right. "Did I?"

"Dead or a KO, we don't have time to check!" Yune called. "Be grateful he's down for the moment."

"I'll be grateful when you're done!" Tara exclaimed. "God - this is killing me!"

He turned around. Yune sat comfortably upon the Noble Rock beside some parts, a stern expression pulled on his face while his fingers did their best to work magic inside the pack. Sore or not, he couldn't tell with Tara, the main body of blonde, wavy hair hidden by her trembling, outstretched arms. Balls of her feet kept her steady while elevated heels propped her high enough for a grasp on the pack.

"Should have worn my heels today." Tara moaned. "Are you - DONE yet?"

"Want some cheese with your whine, T?" Yune frowned back.

"Yune…!" she growled.

"Let me just… THERE!" the Asian exclaimed. "Mercury switch is disabled!"

"That was nuts!" The blonde dropped herself down, naked heels slapping against the insoles. She rubbed at her biceps vigorously. "How many damn traps does one bomb need, anyway?"

"Not enough." Yune shrugged. "Okay, everyone quiet. I'm about to remove the core components. So sudden noises, please!"

"Without a protective suit?" Mr. Chairman exclaimed.

"Guess so." Yune shrugged back. "Unless I'm missing something, I doubt the core's exposed. We'd be feeling sick by now if that were true."

"True." Mr. Chairman nodded. "Either way, good luck to you."

"Thank you, Mr. Chairman." Yune frowned again. "Proceeding to remove the core components."

XXX

His head hurt again. Blondie put a slug in his head. He must pay - HE MUST DIE!

Rage burned in his heart, in his body, his legs, and his arms! Rage - RAGE!

Death… sweet death… BEAUTIFUL DEATH! Red, yellow, black, or white! If they're Muslim, that surely is all right! Because - EVERYONE'S GOING TO DIE!

Die, die, die - die - die!

Yellow rubber duck!

DIE!

XXX

"GRRRAAAAHHHH!"

Kim's hands met her ears, palms pressing against the curvy flesh firmly. She could feel it through her soles. Tara dropped below the top of the fencing. Yune flinched - his stone face twisting painfully. His hands ripped out the pack and clasped over his ears. The sanctuary trembled throughout as bad as when the column fell - worse - when a loud shout came—

—And died just as soon. Carefully her hands parted from her ears. Silence blew back into her head; it was deafening.

"Hello…?" she asked rhetorically, fingering her ear as the simple word entered in. "Ah… good. I'm not deaf yet."

"What the HELL was that?" Ronnie shouted. "Some kind of monster?"

"Whatever it was, it couldn't be good." The puffy mane of wavy blonde peered over the top of the fencing again, shifting as its owner shook her head. "But man - that'd hurt—!"

"SHIT!" Yune's painful mask broke, whites easily seen on the almond eyes. He rolled over backwards, disappearing behind the boulder. "INCOMING!"

She spun on her heels - and caught the sight of Sadie in the air - IN THE AIR! The SUV arced gently, but the size of a matchbox car - a matchbox car that grew exponentially before her. She could feel but a tickle of shade on her clammy skin just before she remembered her feet!

MOVE, DAMNIT! -

Her ribs warped into her body when her side met the floor, easing back properly as her impetus rolled her onward. Sadie's glossy eyes caught a close look at the carpet, chipping her shiny teeth - and the floor quaked violently in an explosion of glass and twisting metal. The flying tailgate lifted the vehicle up again, flipping her over completely! The fence was nothing more than a stack of toothpicks, crackling, splintering while Sadie smashed through.

Belly flopping in itself was bad enough, though Kim could only imagine what the Noble Rock did to Sadie's undercarriage.

"Thank you very much…." The vehicle groaned, her synthetic voice deepening in a muted decrescendo. Sadie screeched piercingly, metal howled, roaring all together on the floor when she slipped completely off.

"FUCK!" The black mat of hair shot up over the rock's tip. "TARA!"

Tara hacked painfully, and her blonde wavy mane crept over the top of a ragged fencepost.

"Aw…!" Tara coughed. "I'm here - barely…!"

Yune took in a breath, and gave thanks where thanks were surely due. Kim rolled to her feet, turning around on her heels awkwardly in the hunch—

The scene was blurry at the edges when her eyes crossed.

"THE F—!"

Uzi stood - the madman actually STOOD exactly where Sadie was happily parked, the vehicle's exhaust pipe at his firmed feet. The shark smile gone, warped into a quivering snarl! Crimson mingled on the right side of his face, trickles from the dull, cloudy eye merging with the river flowing out from the new orifice flanking his skull. Impossibly, he snatched up that length of grimy pipe single handedly!

Through the sights of the pistol, Ron kept his eye on the nut-job.

Drazen opened his snarling maw, blood dripping behind the crimson smeared enamel. He let out a shout - a half shout, cut off as though he inhaled a bug or a rogue piece of dust. Hand and rapier at his belly, he keeled over. Crimson was lost on the red carpet, pouring from his mouth generously like it was -Evil Dead- all over again!

Where's Bruce Campbell when you need him? -

"Groovy…!" Rufus said in a seething drawl.

"Groovy - my ASS!" Ron eased himself back a step.

Uzziel was swelling! The tanks on his back moved away, parting a little too much to be of much comfort. Crimson oozed down the flesh of his leg, pooling at his feet, and dripping onto the carpet at the very top of his peg—!

RIIIPPP! -

The cloth of Uzi's vest tore apart, popping apart at the seams from his expanding girth! The flesh peeking through the rip pleated strangely. Purple tissue peeked through the creases, glinting wetly with red. Cloth at the tear on the side parted further - the peg for a leg groaned! Blood was like a surplus of tomato juice, circling, sloshing in the tanks up to the top braces!

"He's going to pop!" Ron yelped--

But Drazen didn't. Veins pressing through the flesh, muscle peeking through messy red rips in the skin, two dull cow eyes dotting his bloody face. At least twice his normal size and mass, Uzi was swollen like an overripe, festering pimple; ready to violently explode should the slightest poke him!

She fleetingly wondered what a bullet would do. Ron must have pondered it too, for he sent Drazen one with an explosive crack! The bullet smashed into its target. Crimson dots leapt out of the strange, rippling flesh - but that was it!

Uzi simply raised up that pipe with a swollen, pudgy fist.

"GRRRAAHH - GRRRAAAAHHHH!"

The dingy pipe was like a translucent, rusty circle, spinning swiftly for her man!

Ron leapt out of the way - and the pipe rang out vacantly when it bounced off the floor. Uzi made a wobbly beeline right for him!

"HOLY—!"

He couldn't finish. Drazen's pudgy hand snatched Ron by the face - but he stopped not! Face in hand, they disappeared behind a row of columns - and to its core, an explosion of rock and stone shook the sanctuary like an earthquake!

"RON!" she screamed.


	48. Chapter 48

48

Weakness….

Weakness clenched Ron's body tightly with trembling digits, tickling his bones, tingling in his innards. How quickly it took hold of him. It was as though aliens abducted him. He didn't know what the hell happened, but it felt like ET gave him the probe from top to bottom.

Sick and wrong… sick - AND WRONG! -

Elbows quivered as he shoved himself up, a little too much as one slapped at his ribs prematurely. His sore back flattened against the ground, throbbing head bounced. Tired eyes saw the sky, not the beautiful dome, but the sky; it glared back down upon him hotly. Fire crackled stridently nearby, all around him.

With triceps flattened against the ground, shaky hands clenched into fists, he punched at the red sky. His belly curled inwardly. The Dome of the Rock slipped up into his view, shifting through the waving red, orange, and yellow curtains.

Somehow he made it outside.

The picturesque sanctuary appeared different somehow. A gaping hole in the wall before him he hadn't ever seen before, a new feature. Tara had driven Sadie through the doors, of course, but that couldn't be the doorway. It was too raw, too awkward to fit an access.

Somehow he had made it outside, and he was sure it was straight through that wall!

The fat bouncer himself lumbered out through that ragged hole, right on time. The ground trembled underneath as that festering zit belly flopped onto it. He lumbered to his feet, those very feet drunken, wobbling, struggling to keep that massive weight upright. Dread's clammy touch strangled his guts, tying them into square knots when the fat-ass looked at him. His crimson gone, lost through the fluttering red veils. Like his disgusting sibling, he rocked his head back.

"GRRRAAAAHHHH!"

Rufus squealed like a stuck pig, shifting around in its cotton burrow.

"YIPE!"

Pain tapped him one behind the eyes while he whipped his head around. The revolver! Where was it—? Ah! There it was behind him, just a little beyond arm's reach. The ground was hard against his side, a little too hard against the ribs when he went for the pistol. It skittered at his touch, meeting itself coming and going against his scrambling fingers.

"WAAAH!"

Over his shoulder, he stole a look. Uzi's plodding steps lumbered him for the closest tree. Monster steroids or not, even a madman had to take a leak now and then, he guessed.

The firm, spongy grip of the pistol eased dread's stranglehold on his innards. Thumbing its release, the cylinder fell smoothly out from the frame. Six slugs were gone, already had emerged hotly into maturity. Cocoons mooned him, a deep dimple punched squarely into each. Brass jangled onto the ground hollowly when he shook them out, a speed loader free from the pocket in the other hand—

—KKRAAK! —

Flat noses traced the brims of the chambers when he shot his head over the shoulder again. Uzi didn't need to take a leak. No, he relinquished the ground of the tree - the WHOLE TREE! Off the ragged ball of twisted, grubby roots, wet clumps of earth crumbled on the ground when the freak gave the tree a shake.

"GRRRAAAAHHHH!"

Uzi threw down his arms - and the tree grew - getting bigger - and BIGGER. The blazing haze could not mask the differentiating shades of green and brown of several branches!

"FUCK!"

Deaf to everything but an explosion of crackling, splintering wood, he leapt out of the way. Severed branches and switches tore at his body, scratched at his face as they spun past. The tree capsized, rolling ablaze, flaming ends taking turns kicking, shaking off embers before the flames consumed it.

With circumstances gone to Hell in a hand basket, he couldn't help but whine.

"THIS IS INSANITY!"

"SECOND!" Rufus… well - seconded.

Ron would have run, but he too knew that he couldn't keep it up. Sooner or later he'd have to fight one way or another. With the others trapped in the sanctuary, and Kimberly…. Dread's nasty touch slipped off his innards at the thought, hard resolve untied those square knots. He'd come too far, seen too much, and too much was at stake to simply cut and run. He couldn't - he wouldn't!

"All right…." He shot that demon behemoth a firm dagger, right between those dull, cloudy eyes. "That does it, you heretic! Does the druggie want to play?"

Drazen heartily replied.

"GRRRAAAAHHHH!"

"Fine." He slapped the cylinder shut. "LET'S PLAY!"

XXX

"Damn it!" Yune cursed at the quagmire of parts before him.

Though it wasn't her fault, Sadie did throw quite a wrench into the Asian's work practically belly flopping on it. Sifting through the crash, questing for the backpack that went AWOL for a couple minutes when he could have disarmed it by now - it was more than aggravating. At least he had managed to pull the core components out simply and smoothly when he found it.

"Yune, calm down." Tara said. "You're going to give yourself an aneurysm!"

"We're going to be dead in a minute, T!" he exclaimed. "That damn crash ate up my time! I CAN'T GET THAT BACK!"

"What the sitch?" Kimberly asked.

"Yes," Mr. Chairman called from over yonder, "what is going on?"

"The -sitch- is it's going to go off!" he poked at that little, black soccer ball thing fixed on a wired mess of a panel. "It started its delay sequence over a minute ago!"

"Great!" she folded her arms. "That's great! Question is - what the hell are we going to DO?"

"I'm not sure about this," he shook his head doubtfully, "but I have an idea. Tara, can I see your nail file?"

"Well, you -can-…!" she shrugged.

"Tara…!" he growled.

"On it." Her hand wiggled deep into her tight pocket. The cloth scrapped back against her knuckles when it came out with that flat, thin sliver of metal. "There…. Here you go, Yune."

"Thanks." It scratched her palm when he snatched it from her grasp.

The file's pointy tip bumped over the undulated surface of that soccer ball. Lifting his wrist, he angled that tip into a seam between two hexagonal panels. With bared, clenched teeth and knuckles drained of tan, the tip sank between the panels with a huff.

"There…." He took in a breath. Glossy beads were no more on his brow, smeared across his brow by the back of his wiping hand. "Hope this works."

Whipping around, he snatched up a large, cumbersome part that pushed his grip to the limit. The other hand secured the flat tool, and that hunk of junk chimed deeply against it like a blacksmith's anvil. Again and again it rang out at Yune's demand, and that file drove in a little deeper. The soccer ball's shape began to warp; deep cries of metal lifting up a dark hexagon.

The junk in his hand lost purpose, rolling, bouncing for the other scraps littering the floor. He wiggled the file to and fro, the hexagon gradually bending to his will. The section parted from the mass far enough, he spun the component around. The file ignored, just another sliver in the mess as he put his fingers to work. Placing the heels of his feet square against the device, his fingers curled around the section. Those arms trembled with tension, muscles flexing beneath the skin—

—"YAH!" —

—And the hexagon snapped off into his hands cleanly like a dead branch. A hexagon of crusty red encroached by ones of black; Smog stared back at her through its missing scale. Though an arrow plunged deep into the ball through there would certainly cause more problems than it would solve. Sorry, Mr. Tolkien!

Yune couldn't care less what she nor anyone else thought when he tossed the piece away. Hoisting the core component into his arms, the hundred-yard dash couldn't begin to explain it as he rushed for the fiery portal.

"YUNE!" Kim shouted - so she didn't have to. "WHAT'RE YOU DOING?"

"What somebody should do!" he called back. "Maybe I do it - now DUCK!"

With a yell, Yune chucked that component into the hungry blaze. It was like a skittle, a dark dot shrinking on hot tongues before the blaze devoured it completely. Yune retreated double time. The lanky man's corpse ignored, her man extended the courtesy to Mr. Abdul-Latif barely as he dragged him by the collar like a sack of coal.

"Behind the rock!" he shouted. "HURRY!"

—FRRAA - BOOOMM! —

She didn't need to be told twice!

A loud explosion - the sanctuary trembled! Dust and particles tapped onto the floor from way on high. As though the greedy dragon was outside, the fire outside took in a breath and blew it into the sanctuary in bright, swirling clouds. She pushed herself to her feet - only to spring off of them like the floor was a diving board.

"HOLY—!"

XXX

POP! -

Red golf ball!

DIE!

XXX

Though rough around the edges, the Noble Rock was noble indeed, sheltering her from the brunt of the dragon's hot breath while few embers made it past. Kimberly too had played it like a diving board, leaping out of the way with relative ease. Yune had practically tossed his load to safety before the devil's breath licked sense back into his brain, tumbling safely behind shelter.

"Lord." the back of her hands swept at her clothes, dusting them off. "Did that kill the artwork or what?"

"I know, Ms. Tara." Mr. Chairman rolled himself supine, pushing himself up to a sit. "The Waqf will make of this a field day."

"And so will the terrorist groups." Yune smoothed the hair on the back of his head. "If Drazen doesn't destroy this region, they sure as hell will!"

"Not if I have anything to say about it." The chairman shook his head gently. "Though there is always reason to fight, stooping to terrorism is not the answer. It never was, never is, and never will be. If the monster outside doesn't kill us first, I will at least devote my tenure to disbanding them."

Kimberly nodded gently, stumbling behind the rock, out of sight just as she put the strength back in her feet.

"Do you mean it?" Yune folded his arms.

"Most pertinent question, I know." Mr. Abdul-Latif closed his eyes. "Unless your girlfriend is deaf, I suggest that you ask her for the details. I have done enough talking for one day. All I wish to do now is get some rest."

"Yeah." Yune nodded back. "Okay."

"Yune?" she asked. "That explosion. Shouldn't we be talking with St. Peter by now?"

"I guess Heaven isn't ready for us yet, T." he replied.

"But why?" she pressed gently. "Why didn't it go nuclear?"

"I'm not sure how it works exactly, but it had something to do with those panels." He explained - rather - did his best. "I know that in order to achieve nuclear detonation, it must require all of those panels intact. Triggering of the detonation charge without all the panels is just that, an explosion. Besides, I watched George Clooney do that on 'The Peacemaker'."

"WHAT?" she blinked. "You defused a nuke and a third world war from a movie?"

"Yep." He nodded confidently. "And it worked! Providence hangs in the air quite often, right?"

Her fist found his pectoral firmly. Yune wisely eased back a step.

"Sick - and - WRONG!" she yelled. "Sick - and - WRONG! Like two boys goosing in Hell – it's just sick - AND WRONG!"

Her man's face twisted disgustfully.

"Yuck, T!" he clicked his tongue as though it was soured. "Lord… where did you hear that…?"

"Not sure." She put a finger to her chin thoughtfully. "Mr. Barkin, I think. The master of obscenities young ears hadn't heard before. If language were a needle and cursing were thread, I bet you that man can weave a tapestry big enough for Middleton High's gym!"

"Being a Vietnam jarhead will do it to you." He gagged. "Blah…!"

He shook his head but he stopped in mid shake, staring quizzically at the boulder - no - past the boulder.

"Kimberly?" he said. "What're you doing?"

"The nuclear threat is finally gone, true." The girl replied. "But there's still one last job to do."

Her legs took their time carrying her around the boulder. Kimberly was at a knee by the ordinance pile, intact as though fire hadn't blown inside the sanctuary at all. The machine gun and brass chains ignored. The rocket launcher was laid parallel to the girl, its muzzle empty not for long with a blunt, dull green spear in her hand.

"Shouldn't you leave Drazen to Ron, Kim?" she asked. "He said he could—"

"No he can't, Tara!" the red mane whipped away when its owner shot her a look, neither soft nor hard, just… a look. "You've seen what he did to Robin single handedly! And you honestly think Ron can take that freak on by himself?"

A sigh.

"No…." she replied. "You're right…."

"I -am- right." Gently with flattened fingers, Kim rolled that spear into the muzzle as far as it would go. "Ron maybe my best friend, but he's more than that now. Drazen's going to destroy that which I've finally come to love. I can't have that - not on my watch!"

"Peace goes with you, Ms. Possible." Mr. Chairman said.

"Peace…" Kim rose to her feet, hoisting the launcher to her shoulder, "is between Drazen and God. For some reason, God endowed me with the task to arrange the meeting."

The girl put a foot forward - her let went crook too soon, nearly taking the rest of her with it. A free hand shot out, flattening against the round, trembling to keep her upright. A growl lodged in her craw, she forced her leg straight, forcing herself up as she put her other foot forward - only to drop again. It went on for another couple of minutes.

"Too weak…." Kim dropped to her knee, breathing shallowly. "Please… help me…."

A warm smile tugged at her lips.

"Thought you'd never ask, Kim."

XXX

Platinum Christmas tree…!

DIE…!

XXX

FRRAA – BOOOM! –

A thunderous explosion - the flames by the sanctuary hastily angled away before the very heat carried them back upright. Whether a true explosion or a wet fart from his playmate's fat ass, Ronald wasn't in the shape to tell. A few minutes with Drazen was great exercise: dodging red bushels, ducking beneath crackling trees, and weaving past anything else the freak got his hands around. Yet he'd be happy if he never had to go through it again.

A few minutes hopping around the inferno, the southeastern corner never felt so cool… or so constrictive. The blazing walls behind and a steep precipice ahead, Drazen took a pale knee by the eastern wall. He looked bleak, his color drained from the slick belly onto the ground in a crimson pool. His stained bite as worse as his bark, breathing in haggardly, polluted by the red sky. Déjà vu!

The six fresh slugs were gone already, burying in uselessly into their target like botflies. Still he kept an eye on the madman through the steel sights. Cautious feet took turns in front of each other, moving him closer.

"Grraa…!" the overripe zit mumbled. "Rraaah…."

"Mumble all you want, Drazen." He frowned. "The party's over for you!"

"Rah…." Red-slicked eyelids fluttered back.

"Uzi, I don't know what's going through that thick skull of yours and I don't care!" he said sternly. "I'm not going to kill you. You're not getting off that easy. That seems to be impossible, anyway. Just give up."

"Rah…!" bloodied lips curled into a quivering sneer. "RAH!"

"Your men abandoned you," he continued, "left you for dead. Your last you killed yourself. And unless we're in limbo right now, I think it's safe to say that my friends took care of your bomb. You're out of moves - checkmate! You lost, Drazen. Just admit it!"

"Grraaah…!" his supporting hand jumped, clenched into a fist just as gravity took over again. "RAAHH!"

Ron was pissing him off; not exactly the smartest move. Yet dripping like a leaky packet of Diablo Sauce, Drazen didn't have much time. If only he were that lucky.

"Fine…." He sighed. "Be that way. Know this! If you don't put this -demonic- rage behind you, you won't survive long."

"RAAHH!" the strange brow furrowed.

"Hell, why should I even bother?" he asked rhetorically. "You're Mr. Death, after all! You're probably the Grim Reaper's lover, not that the Grim Reaper had anything to give you the business with. Except maybe the scythe, but… ouch! Then again, maybe you like that - I don't know! I don't even care anymore. I just hope when you're in solitary for the rest of your life that you find God before He finds you—!"

That hand swept out from under the behemoth - his nose scrunched, lips practically paralyzed against the swollen palm. Through the enraged madness circulating in that brain, Drazen had the clarity to snatch him by the head. Not even swathe of the tongue would send that monster reeling.

He wasn't that lucky after all.

"GRRRAAAAHHHH!"

The ground slipped out from under him while his head fell back—!

PAIN! It snatched onto the back of his brain like a bear trap - hot, burning, gnawing, and chewing pain! He couldn't breathe, couldn't lift his arms even to pick! His body left useless, a rag-doll when pain swallowed what strength he had left. His lungs struggled against his ribs, pushing their way a little closer to the surface each time.

Everything should have gotten blurry if he actually had something to see.

Can't… BREATHE! -

"GRRAAH!" the monster roared. "GRRRAAAAHHHH!"

So this was how it ends? No monster zombie snowmen? No giant, mutant wiener-dogs like Mr. Barkin predicted? Guess not. Simply strangled by whinny nihilist high on steroids: that was what either God or fate had for him. Strange, it really was. Compared to other exploits past, this would be so… anticlimactic—

—"Leave him - ALONE!" his ears managed to catch. —

—Or not.

Out from behind him came an -FWOOM- - a stern hiss, vacant and hoarse, hissing over him like a rocket—!

His nose bounced back, air blew into his nose that he gladly took in. His lips were free, mouth taking in more of the thick, noxious, and so very sweet air he'd quickly come to miss. Eyes batted open in the light, he winced. When his irises focused it to a tolerable level, the red sky didn't seem to glare down upon him as harshly.

"Ah…." He took in another whiff as his abs yanked him up. His hand swept over the back of his head. Nothing broken, nothing flattened though the bone was tender to the touch. "Oh…! Who the hell…?"

Slowly, he turned his head around… and there was Kim, taking to a tired knee with the RPG-7 in hand. Everybody's favorite couple tended to her. Yune relieved her of the launcher while his girl eased Kim to the ground.

"You did good, Kim." Tara said. "Take it easy."

He twisted himself back around, letting his natural range of motion carry him back to neutral. There the fat madman was, his bloody mouth agape, jaw shivering at the loss of growls. The rocket grenade found itself deep within its target. Thin fins were like an X on his red-slicked belly, the dark hole at its hub staring back at him darkly, exhaling a wisp of light gray.

"Which I could say the same, T!" Yune exclaimed. "Ron - get away from him!"

"The round…." Kim breathed. "It's a dud…?"

"Can't take a chance." Yune replied. "Come on, Ron!"

"Coming!"

Too weak to stand, he dragged his butt - actually dragged his butt over towards them like he had a case of parasites. He felt like a canine! Then again, what else was to be expected from the Middleton High Mad Dog? At least he didn't lose his bladder on the Temple Mount, though that would show the anal Waqf a thing or two!

"He-huh!" Rufus sniggered. "Bark!"

XXX

Pop bottle rocket…. POP-BOTTLE ROCKET?

Tan pigskin!

Not afraid of rocket!

WHO'S AFRAID OF A POP-BOTTLE ROCKET?

XXX

"Is it over…?" Kim asked.

Tara's eyes looked cloudy, dots of aquamarine almost lost on the beds of white. A weak limb brought up a straight finger.

"Don't think so!" the blonde pointed.

Eyeing the invisible line the girl had made, her eyes wandered on that line over – and wished she'd stop an inch beyond the fingertip.

Fat Drazen was still standing - the team as her witness that fat ass was still standing! The crimsoned swollen limbs shot for the X at his belly, pudgy hands obscured hardly by the fins. Quivering jaw clenched, bared enamel grinding against each other furiously. The bottom of that volatile spear peeked at her as Drazen gradually 'coaxed' it back out.

"Now what?" Tara yelped. "Not even an RPG could it! We're DONE FOR!"

Yune sighed dejectedly; letting his legs fold in, lowering him to a tailor position.

"We're too far from the sanctuary." The Asian closed his eyes. "And the wind's about to pick up. No escape…."

"Shit…!" her curse weak as her fist, fingers flattening, uncurling against the unmoving ground. "Of all the rockets, I had to choose the dud! I should have taken more grenades! We were so close - this isn't fair…!"

"So this really is it, eh?" Ron replied. A scrape and shifting of cloths, she could feel his firm back press against her side. "Well Kim, just before we go…"

"Yeah, Ron…?" she asked. "What's up?"

"Well… I just want you to know that you were great, Kim." His reply was as warm as his body. She could feel his heat radiate through her shirt into her. "Thanks…."

Her lids felt wet; poignant sighs lodged in her throat.

"Ron…!" she sniffed. Her arms went around his cushy trunk firmly, pulling him closer. Her chest tickled when one of his hands cupped around her forearm, his palm clammy yet… warm.

"Shhh." He cooed. "It's okay. There's no need for sorrow, KP. Don't cry. Don't be sad."

"Why's that…?" a drop of wetness escaped her lid.

"Should the Lord be gracious, we will be in Heaven together." Ron replied softly. "Happiness abounds as we praise the Lord, and forever we can be in eternity together and with others lost to us over the years - I hope. What a wonderful time we'll have together, KP. You'll see."

"He's right, Kim." Tara said. "Hopefully, Yune and I will see you there. Sure, I'm scared. Have hardly been this frightened before! Yet when I die, I will be with the Lord just like Robin is now. I'll know happiness like no other, and Yune will be with me like Ron will be with you."

"It's still not fair." she sniffed. "I wanted to grow old! I wanted to have children - and grandchildren! Just like everyone else on this planet. Was it too much to ask…? I come to grips with our relationship, and what do I find but to know it was too late. We're going to die… just like the rest of this world. We failed… and so did I."

"So what now?" Ron asked. "Give up?"

"No." her arms flopped off him as she eased herself away. "Far from it. If we go down today, we're going down fighting! One way or another!"

"Amen." Ron replied - a peck on the cheek. "So, you ready to do this?"

"Yeah." Gradually her legs pushed her upright. Tara gave her hand, easing her ascent. "Take him down!"

"As always," her heart tingled hotly like poking needles when those squared fingers laced with her own, "I'd tag team with you any day, KP."

"We're with you, guys!" Tara nodded with a bright smile. "Isn't that right, Yune."

"Pointless to argue really, T." Yune unfolded his legs, pushing himself back up. "Women typically are right, after all."

"Ah… you're learning!" she grinned brightly.

"Maybe right one percent of the time," he smirked back, "but I'm so damn proud of my one percent!"

"Damn straight!" Ron nodded.

With the slight reprieve, Drazen struggled still with the dull green spear. Though hidden by clasped, pudgy hands, its stem was clear to her. Amazing really. Mysterious green goop did a body wonders, even with a hole in the belly the size of a saucer.

"This is the end, people!" Ron exclaimed. "I don't know what we're going to do and I don't care! Let's just wing it!"

"Ha!" She smiled weakly. "William Wallace, you're not!"

"Huh-ha-ha-ha…!" his little buddy laughed. "True dat!"

"Forgive me, I was out of blue face paint!" he frowned. "Come on!"

The end, this was. Without the rocket lodged in the gut, it was still a battle to the very end - authentic, violent, with crimson staining the ground more than an abattoir. Chivalry was dead. Nobility was a ghost, nowhere to be found on the arena… just like times past. There was no honor in any of this.

"We, who are about to die…" -

"God…." She mouthed quietly. "Jesus - save us—!"

A flash of light - the fat ass's hands jumped off the stem as though it grew hot! Out from the dark hole of the green X sputtered a flare of sparks, gleaming hotly, pouring to the ground like a glowing waterfall. Milky white smoke fumed from the hole, clouding to the sky. Drazen hacked and wheezed like a dying animal - taken back a plodding step when the sparks blasted out of the muzzle in a sizzling gale!

"No way…!" she blinked.

The Lord… heard her…? Did the Most High actually hear her? He must have! God had heard her - His Son actually heard her! Her knees wobbled, feet struggled to keep her upright when a chill ran up the length of her back - pins-and-needles all over! The tingling around the circumference pierced deeper, tickling her throughout.

Yet it felt so warm.

"GRRRAAAAHHHH—!"

God had heard her! Jesus had answered her - a flash, thundering blast, and a consuming reddish smoke that enveloped Drazen completely! The sky swept underneath her, her blackened shoes standing on the dark clouds while her abs crunched inwardly. —The ground pressed against her backside as firm as ever. Only a moment later did she realize what had happened.

The grenade wasn't a dud after all!

The shower was crimson, blood raining seemingly from the sky, dappling the ground. Peach skin with red polka dots, on her body a warm and sticky coat. Tiny splashes quelled the ringing, as did the wind blowing in her ears. The fresh breeze was welcome relief, cool and refreshing on her clammy flesh. The dark cloud before her swirled and churned, thick swirls carried away to dissipation, chased by the wind.

The breeze blew off a dark twirl at the ground—

—The red sheens of a combat boot and a steel peg gleamed back at her dimly.

Kim felt a tick come on, tugging intermittently at an eyelid.

"How the hell—?"

A black swathed knee and a hinge hit the ground, the smoke parted as the rest of the body crumpled over by it own weight—

—"Holy…!" Ron gasped. —

—Rather - lack thereof! Air parted the rest of the dark plumes, swallowing it all up as the last foggy speck simply faded away. Drazen's better half was missing in action, a hint of it but a bony, flaccid flap arcing over his severed waist. Blood slapped the leg and peg a thick coat, spilling, pooling on the cobbled ground from the -raw- waistline.

"Wait…!" it came out of Tara like a gag. "What's that?"

She looked - and Drazen was there, up in the sky, plummeting to earth like a stone! Crimson a thin line, a fleeting trace to his presence while limbs flailed aimlessly about like baby chick. The eastern wall was upon him suddenly - and he disappeared in an explosion of cracking, splintering wood, rattling and jangling pipe.

"WAHH—!"

He screamed no more, cut off by a hard -Kerr - PLOP-! She cringed, her belly churned sourly. Bitter sickness overwhelmed her, buckling knees dragged the rest of her to the ground. What little lunch she had gingerly worked its way up her tight, quivering throat.

"Aw - MAN—!"

Pungent acid fresh on her tongue, she lost it on the cobbled ground.

"Kim." Ron dropped to her side. "I'll look for Drazen down there. You've done enough already. Just stay with these guys and take it easy."

"Yeah…" her breath shallow, lungs straining for more, "okay…."

"What about us?" Tara asked. "What should we do?"

"Strangely enough, the flames are finally dying down." Ron lifted himself up and away. "I think you can make it back to the sanctuary safely. While I'm on my way down there, take Kim back to the Dome, check up on Mr. Chairman, whatever…. The sooner the better."

"Why's that?" the girl inquired. "Is something bad going to happen?"

"Unless the explosion popped your eardrums, I bet you've heard it too." Her man replied. "Pipes rattling, wood breaking. Sounds like Uzi's trip took out the wall's scaffolding. They needed it to keep the new bulge in check! Stress from the RPG probably made this whole section unstable!"

"And they thought turning King Solomon's Stables into a mosque was a good idea…!" Yune mused dryly. "My ass!"

"This place could collapse any minute." Ron pressed. "Just get back to the sanctuary. You should be safe if it really comes down."

"Okay, Ronald." Yune said. "If this is what you want."

"It -is- what I want." Her man asserted. "Now go."

"Right."

Yune's firm hands took to her arms, hoisting her up to her shaky feet. Tara's soft palms warm on her back, moving her, directing her onward as though a guide. Her stomach churned sickly, her throat quivered in its tightness, still she managed to inch the corners of her lips to a smile, weak as it was.

It was a long time coming, but time spent wisely simply hearing the results.

Welcome to adulthood, Ron…. -

She lost it again.

"Aw - Kim!" Tara cringed through her fingers. "My Keds!"

A sheepish smile was her reply.

"Sorry…!"


	49. Chapter 49

49

Abu saw it all - THE Bloody Red laughing, drunk with sin and wickedness; his thief in the night snatched Chairman Abd-al-Latif away, and Allah's fiery and terrible wrath poured down upon the Temple Mount for this desecration! May the great god have mercy upon him should the world perish at Mr. Bloody Red's slick hand.

Have mercy upon him and Muhammad, Allah did. The fires had dwindled to their last embers, crackling, flickering violently in the fresh breeze. Allah's gaze from on high softened, His red glare fading away gradually. The encroaching blue looked down upon him favorably as he carefully made his way around the foot of the wall, the southeastern corner, father and son hand-in-hand.

A flash - a sharp blast, the Bloody Red was consumed by Allah's dark wrath; he could see it from atop the large stairs, even through the shifting hot veils. The wind blew through his robes as it did the cloud of smoke. A pair of legs collapsed to the ground, it owner nowhere to be seen... till it fell from above. Allah had caught him - and promptly threw him down behind the eastern wall. His great judgment cast down; Bloody Red was done for.

A pair of kids, no older than Muhammad, had escorted another back to the Noble Sanctuary. The escorted head hidden by what appeared to be a red -hijab-. Infidels soiling, defiling the holy place with their paws and un-cloven hooves, it didn't matter… today! Allah will have His great and terrible judgment for them soon enough.

Muhammad left his side without hesitation, tending to the mess of pipe and broken scaffolding that kept the Jews' treachery from coming down. Pipe, rope, chips, and slivers of wood everywhere. The Jews' of course would deny any involvement, though they probably ordered their ace-in-the-whole to bring the whole structure down. The US would believe the Jews; they always did! Thankfully Jordan didn't stoop to their low level. They would believe Palestine; they would promptly send a -real- crew that will help - not hinder - Al-Aqsa to keep standing triumphantly over Israel.

"Father, this place is a mess!" his son exclaimed, mooning him as he scooped up a coil of rope. "It will take a whole team a couple weeks to clean this up and erect a new brace. Where is that fiend? When I get my hands on him, he will wish Allah had taken him to Hell in a gift basket! Of that, I will be sure!"

"Calm down, son." He replied coolly. "The Blood Red is not as far gone as you think."

Judgment was not complete for Bloody Red, it seemed. Writing pitifully through his own bloody red, his "better" half lay atop an outcropping of rock, still soiling, and still corrupting Allah's creation with fouled crimson. The twisted, ragged folds and rips of flesh at the severed waist but a taste of what hell Allah had before him.

"Well, if it isn't Mr. Bloody Red himself." His tired lips easily pulled into a smile. "Funny, it is, how we keep meeting like this - yes?"

An orb of dull hazel gazed back at him jadedly. Shaky lips parted and a mouthful of thick crimson came bubbling out, flowing down the reddened half of his twisted, ghastly face.

"I assume so." The corner of his lips quickly dropped into a frown. "But don't go to sleep, Bloody Red. We have so much to talk about! But rest assured that these little meetings will -never- happen again! Muhammad!"

A shift of cloth - a crackle-snap of rope and the Bloody Red squeaked. As his son and Allah as his witness, The Major actually squeaked!

This is going to be fun!

XXX

Because he didn't get enough exercise playing dodge ball around the Temple Mount with Drazen, Ron pushed his achy body further just to reach the foot of the southeastern corner. His brain alive, calculating briefly the best spaces to place his tired feet. Weaving around outcroppings, leaning against the undulated slope, it would do wonders for his balance.

A jagged piece of wood peeked at him from beyond the corner of the wall. Strength surged to his achy legs, hurrying him carefully to that corner. Unless he had the strength left to wiggle and writhe away, Drazen's better half would just be around the sharp bend—

—"Whoa…!" his throat tightened. "Oh my…!"—

—And around the bend he was. Lain lifelessly atop an outcropping of rock with glossy red sheen, Drazen was roped to that very stone as though he had a thing for bondage. The disgusting, ragged flaps of tissue were gone, hidden by a thick coil of rope. The fibers were blushing, embarrassed, forced to keep its very captive alive.

"My suit - my body…!" It came from the bound punk like a sigh. "Damn… I've nothing to wear for the party. Still, Blondie is going to bring the shindig to me, yeah…?"

"No." He took to a knee. "Told you before, Drazen. You're not getting off that easy. Looks like the Palestinians agree."

"I don't believe that…." Drazen breathed. "They'll cart me off just to string me up on a lamppost… or even - tear my body apart! Hell… they better enjoy it while they can… before the world comes down!"

"What're you babbling about, Drazen?" he shook his head. "You're out of men and your bomb's a dud. You lost! Why can't you just accept that?"

"That's what you think…." He chuckled weakly.

His dull hazel was locked, twitching in place as though transfixed on something. A gentle crumble, Drazen flinched when a pebble tapped him on the cheek. He looked up. The second bulge loomed over him threateningly.

"Great!" he cursed. "This is all I need!"

"Think you can stop it…?" Drazen asked. "When it falls, it'll take -Al-Aqsa- with it…! The Muslims enraged, destruction of 'the furthest mosque' like gasoline on a wildfire…. The world will come down soon after that - probably the Russkies leading the banzai charge. Yes… this world will end in a ball of instant sunshine—!"

Drazen coughed, a thin haze of crimson blew out of the punk's mouth.

"I die here… the madness will surely come…!" the madman continued, lifting his strange head. Orb of hazel neither dim nor strong, just… empty: lights on but no one's home. "A shame I won't be here to see it end…! I will slip forever into oblivion. A shame I won't see you or Kimmie die like the little mongrels I once knew…! There's… there's a bullet for everyone, you know. And a time… and a place…! I - I can see it! The… end—"

Drazen lost his head to gravity; metal shards ringing vacantly like the solemn toll of a church's bell. The ropes that held him fast sank, the chest deflating as God's breath of life escaped through parted lips. The chest rose not again. Drazen was dead, Major Uzziel Lichtenfeld Drazen, formerly of The Family Private Army and commandant of the Victims' Separatist Army was dead.

"Oh death, where is thy sting? Oh grave, where is thy victory?" -

Muscles strained to push himself up to his weak feet. The battle was over; evil was conquered by good this day. Though he won, the victory was shallow if not empty, fleeting. Victory was not sweet, not the great lover others had hyped it to be. No, it was just another one-night-stand, abandoning him high and dry. Her lingering taste sour, a bitter reminder of what was and was not.

It felt kind of… sad.

Carefully he turned to maneuver away, giving Uzziel a final glimpse of his ass walking away. The slick rock would be relinquished of its gruesome burden within the next several days certainly, burying it promptly within that time period. No pomp, no circumstance: Drazen deserved not that respect. Yet he wouldn't be surprised if the government simply forgot about the body completely, abandoning it to the buzzards. Beaks pointy and sharp, pecking rips and tears into the rotting flesh so big not even master seamstress could patch. Crimson, peach, pale, brown, and hazel: all the colors and shades of Uzziel would become the same foul color in the end.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust—!

Through the soles of his shoes, his feet shook as the ground quaked. Over his shoulder, he stole a look. Through the tan, wispy veil, Drazen was still at rest underneath a fall of brown hail, dark globs that left a vapor of dust, flinching equal to the bounce of the stones. The crumbling rumble was a crescendo, loud and intense. The protrusion above was about to pop, pebbles and chunks falling, stuffing tumbling out from the cracks like a leaky boil.

"Aw MAN…!"

Forearms against his crown, he braced himself - the bulge exploding in a thick brown cloud, stone crumbling, tumbling to the angled ground like the ancient walls of Jericho! The powdery earth thick; dust consuming like a sandstorm. He coughed haggardly. He couldn't see, couldn't breathe, a total brownout as though the earth swallowed him whole! A suffocating pit he couldn't escape—!

A hand drove itself through the storm, seizing him by the collar. The digits thin and bony like spider legs, snatching onto him like pray. The smooth cold was refreshing on the back of his neck. Ground beneath him slipped off his feet, tailbone sore when his butt smacked onto the hard ground. He knew then what a helpless housefly felt like as the bony spider carted him away.

"There…!" that familiar voice grunted no more than a foot behind, thick with Semitic timbre. "Got you, Stoppable!"

Grains were sandpaper on his face, scratching into his skin as he wiped them away. Fingers poked at the corners of his eyes. Tiny granules there were like vagrants, gladly making themselves at home.

"Hershel…?" he batted his eyes. "What're you…?"

"Quit poking yourself, Stoppable." The woman replied. His body was at the will of the woman's thin arms, slowly turning him around. "I'll get you some eye-drops. Hold on."

A small piece of cold, hard plastic pressed against his palm. Hershel's fingers capped his own, folding them, molding them around the bottle.

"There you are." Hershel said. "Wash your eyes out with it."

"Ah-ha...!" He sighed as the plastic tip touched his eye. Soothing, relief was, a cold and wet coat that focused in the world a little more clearly. The irritating grains were gone with the flow. The eviction noticed served swiftly and justly. "Thank you, Hershel."

With a tight pinch she took back the bottle, slipping it behind the flap of her business jacket.

"You're welcome again, Stoppable." Hershel nodded. "Be grateful I was in the neighborhood, or you would have joined Uzi underneath the rubble."

His heart jumped against his lungs, taking in a shallow breath.

"Oh no!" loose earth grinded against his shoes as he turned around. "The mosque—!"

"It's still standing, Ronald." A bony hand capped his shoulder. "Calm down."

He blinked again - she was right! He didn't know how or why. The answer proved elusive but she was still right! Towering over the wreck did the ancient mosque continued to stand. A smooth piece of what appeared to be rock peeked at him through the ragged hole like the bald patch on an older man's head.

"What?" his eyes boggled. "I don't understand - the mosque—!"

"Is still there." Her hand guided him around again. "I made sure it would should any hardliners try anything today."

"Huh…?" he shook his head.

"Brain-hurt, yes?" she smirked. "Don't worry, I'll explain the best I can. But let's meet up with your friends first, okay?"

"Yeah…." He nodded slowly. "Okay."

XXX

Emergency medical technicians, firefighters, and police, the sanctuary was alive with activity.

Firefighters had their hands full quenching the hot, thirsty tongues outside, lapping at their water greedily and even the mount's upwelling water. Weapons ignored on the men and women in coal berets, converging on Sadie like a swarm. Springs squeaked sharply as the police rolled her back on her feet, backing her away from the boulder. An EMT took over where Tara had left off, tending properly to Mr. Chairman's wounds with a couple sutures.

Another man with the red Hebrew emblazoned on his orange vest draped Robin with the final sheet on her gurney, smoothing out the shady wrinkles before he wheeled her out the door. Light was pure; the portal was bathed in bright white. Shadows were gone, overwhelmed by the light as though the man had whisked her friend into Heaven.

Never to be seen again….

"Goodbye, Robin." Kim sighed. Her eyes were wet, moisture seeping between the lids. "Thank you… for everything."

A man in black garb watched it all like a hawk, baggy arms folded with a stern frown pulled just above his frizzy beard, soliciting himself to play referee. Those dark eyes, so disparaging, twitching at every movement the police and EMT made. Not simply reviewing at what damage has been done, rather looking -for- something to carp about.

"Lord, what's that guy's damage?" Tara blinked.

The tan brow furrowed, dark hawk eyes shooting her a dagger. The blonde simply shrugged back.

"Frowning upon the Israelis work, helping Chairman Abdul-Latif while some back Sadie away from the Noble Rock and all." Yune replied. "He's probably an agent for the Waqf. If not, he's just as anal."

"We saved this place from a radiation bath and this is the thanks we get?" Tara folded her arms crossly. "That's gratitude for you!"

"Better drop it, T." Yune said. "An argument with him will get you nowhere except off the mount with a foot up your butt."

"You should not need worry about him." Mr. Chairman called. His calves were white when the EMT at his legs wrapped them around with fresh, clean bandages. "He is here to only assess the damage, not to play a bouncer. Considering what you have done for me today, I shall not let him."

"Cool." Kim nodded. "I could use the sit - Ow!"

Pain was like a pinch, a reminder of the medic at her side that she had completely spaced. Brown eyes gave her a warm glance before they refocused at her side, shoulders draped with orange shrugged as one cocked back. The bandages a corset, constricting around her waist like a boa. Skin pinched, floating ribs arced a little too inwardly. In a gag, her breath escaped.

"There…!" the medic took in a breath, the loose flap pleated and taut in a clenched grip. The back of his other hand drew across his brow before it came down on her with the clamp. Pressure seemed to ease as her skin bounced back through it. "That was not so bad, was it, Ms. Possible?"

"They can send a man to the moon but the can't find a better way to sew up a gash?" she asked rhetorically. "Man, I hate needles."

"I do not know anyone who does, actually." The medic shrugged. "But as for you, simply take it easy. Do not do anything strenuous. We will be taking you to the hospital shortly."

"Can I walk?" she asked.

"I would rather you not." The medic replied. "After your bandaging, I would really hate it if your wound tore open again."

"All right." She sighed. "If I must."

"Aw - leave the man alone…!"

Her heart jumped. That voice, noisy and flat, just like music to her ears. Beautiful music that eased her fears, motioned that everything was right with the world once more in the movement of its sweet melodic line.

Yet that melodic line was rather blunt.

"Quit busting the man's balls, KP." He said.

It didn't stop her from taking at look ahead. A little worn around the edges, there was Ron - her Ron - standing valiantly, jadedly before her. His feet strained to keep him up, but everybody's favorite Barbie doll relieved them of the task. Hershel was useful after all, as a crutch.

"Ron!" she would have leapt for joy if the medic didn't have a grip on her. "You're still alive!"

"Hey, KP." He smiled back. "I try to keep my promises the best I can."

"What happened?" She exclaimed. "There was a rumbling - like an earthquake! And then a big crash, and—"

"There was no earthquake, Kimberly." Hershel said simply, oddly with all things considered. "The second bulge collapsed."

The lame shall speak: the man in baggy black found his voice.

"WHAT?"

"-Al-Aqsa- is still standing." Hershel's eyes rolled. "Calm down."

"And what about Drazen." Tara asked. "What about him?"

"Dead..." Ron sighed, "and buried. Crushed underneath a ton of stone, a proper end for that heretic! Safe to say he won't be crawling his way out from under that much rock, no matter what he's on."

The man in baggy black let out a sigh of his own, thick with relief, it would seem.

"But how…?" She asked. "How's the mosque still standing? And Hershel! What're you doing here?"

"It'd be safe to say that my team and I were responsible for the mosque." The woman explained. "Just after I got back to the office, my boss had me supervise a construction team ordered to Solomon's Stables to prevent the mosque's imminent collapse. Amazing what a couple of well-placed two-by-fours and I-beams can do, really."

"This doesn't sound like your kind of work, Hershel." Her brow kinked. "Or does it?"

"That's because it's not, Possible." Hershel sighed. "Punishment for insubordination, I believe. I have yet to see what America has in store for me."

"At least your shoes look the part." She smirked on a lark.

"Old IAF boots." Lifting her heel, the woman rolled her ankle. "I can't maneuver around slopes and rocks in pumps, can I? It's been over a decade and they still fit."

"Good for you." She gave her a thumbs-up. "Be sure to polish them up properly."

Hershel groaned while her eyes took a lap around her head.

"You're incorrigible, Possible."

"Back at you, Hershel." She smirked genuinely.

"So what now?" Tara said. "What should we do?"

"Well…" Hershel took a breath as she eased Ron to the floor, "you've done more for this country than I had expected. Kimberly, Ronald, it appears our meeting back off the coast of Spain wasn't coincidence, but rather providence. It's as though God Himself chose you two for this very purpose, as much as your choice of a support team."

Tara smiled brightly while her man simply nodded. The man in baggy black frowned disparagingly, arms folded crossly over his chest.

"This is ludicrous!" the man exclaimed. "Police! Do your job and arrest that woman!"

"Oh - for the love of—!" Mr. Chairman moaned. "Police, do your job and disregard that order."

"We don't answer to you anyway, Mr. Chairman." From behind crumpled Sadie, a policeman replied. "Sorry!"

"WHAT?" the baggy man's brown dots shrank on their beds of white. "What do you mean 'disregard', Mr. Chairman?"

"I mean let the woman talk." Mr. Abdul-Latif folded too his arms. "She wasn't talking to you, anyway."

"But, this is a direct violation—!"

"This is a -direct- order from the Chairman, good man!" the chairman pressed. "Let it drop!"

"BUT—!"

"No BUTS!" the chairman shouted. "Now do continue, Ms. Hershel."

"Thank you, Mr. Chairman." She nodded. "As I was saying, I don't think this country would have done it much better with out all of your help. I hardly think one man could do it all by his lonesome. Something powerful resonates from you, all of you. I'm not sure exactly what it is, but you've clearly shown over these past couple of days.

"Possible, your tenacity helped turn the wheels of justice, bringing about Uzziel's downfall. Bin-Mok, your sense of justice gave you sight beyond my own; during the times I couldn't see five minutes ahead. Firsthand knowledge of Drazen proved invaluable! Stark, your sense of friendship held this team together, even when it was about to tear apart.

"And Stoppable, you have exuded a sense of patriotism the likes I haven't seen for a long time! Everything you did you've done for your God and your country. Ronald R. Stoppable, I believe I can say that with utmost honesty that you are a true patriot!"

"Really…?" those chocolate eyes were about to melt from his head. "Do you mean it?"

"Of course." She nodded. "Going beyond the call for friends, family, and those we love."

She smiled warmly. Her heart tingled at the thought.

"Thank you, Ariel." Ron said. "But I think there's one more person you're forgetting. Considering what she did, she doesn't deserve to be forgotten. I know her family sure won't."

The team nodded. Mr. Abd-al-Latif bobbed his head in agreement.

"Yes." Hershel sighed dejectedly. "Robin Ata. She's like Tara too. Taking into her home the enemy of her own love, caring for them when not even my company would. Feeding them, sheltering them, sacrificing her love, even herself for the sake of the call. Given a second chance, I don't believe she would have done it any different."

"I agree." Ron nodded.

"Her family will be properly compensated, and she will be given a funeral one that's to be remembered." Hershel said. "We will not weep at her demise. No. Instead we shall celebrate her life, venerate her last days. She might as well have saved this country and the world along side you."

"Thank you." Kim smiled. "A shame I couldn't be there to see her much in action, but I can see her labors bear fruit today."

"How's that, KP?" Ron asked.

"Simple." She smiled warmly. "We're still alive."

"Ms. Hershel." Tara pushed herself to her knees. "Is there any unfinished business you'd like us to take care of? Anything at all?"

"Actually no." the Barbie shook her head. "With Uzziel finally dead and his forces in custody, the mission is officially over. Case closed. As I told Yune early this morning, I'd like to have all of you at Ben-Gurion first thing when everything's back online. Though that can take days, so relax. Give any wounds a chance to heal. I'll contact you as soon as communications are restored."

"How will we know that?" Tara's brow perked.

Yune shook his head while his eyes took a lap around.

"The -phone-, Tara." He sighed.

"Oh." The blonde blinked before her palm met her crown. "Right - Duh!"

"Sounds like a plan." Ron said. "It sounds like it'll be great going back home. I only wish I could join you."

The bandages pulled at her sides when she sat up.

"What…?" she blinked.

"You all are going home." Ronnie said. "I'm sorry that I cannot."

"What do you mean you can't?" she looked at him incredulously. "Of course you can. You're coming with us… aren't you?"

"No." That plastered, solid mat of dirty yellow shook atop his head. "I'm not going."

"What'd you mean you're not going?" she demanded.

"It's hard to put into words, KP." Ron replied. "Even if I could, you'd probably dismiss me altogether."

"No, I wouldn't!" she shook her head. "Ron, you maybe my best friend but you're more to me than that now. I love you, and you wouldn't know I'd dismiss or anything till you tried me."

"I don't know, KP." Ron sighed. "I don't know where to begin. But for some reason, I sense more work to be done. There are more things here that I've got to do. I don't know how or why. I don't know what these things are, but I'm sure the longer I stay the faster they'll come to light.

"During my time here, through Robin and others, I've come to realize that this is where I belong. Israel: the land that the good Lord had given to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob—"

The man in baggy black interjected.

"And Ishmael!"

"SHUT IT!" Mr. Chairman shouted back.

"My family fled this place once before, before the first uprising, and in a sense… I abandoned it too. When I found myself in the West Bank, aghast as I looked upon those corpses strung up to the lampposts, I wanted to leave the country. I was as eager to leave as my family. But that was a decision I've regretted for most of my life, my life when I was old enough to realize why I was more or less depressed. I've abandoned my home. I've killed my soul! It's been dead for the past decade. But now that I've come back here… I don't ever want to leave it again."

She frowned.

"Is that why you're abandoning me?"

"No, KP!" her heart cringed as those chocolate eyes glistened wetly in the light. "I'd never abandon you. I want to be with you, KP. But this is something I have to do, for myself. If I leave here again, I don't think I could ever look at myself in the mirror the same way anymore."

"But Ron…!" she protested. Her lids batted slickly atop of wet eyes. "I know this is the Jewish homeland, given to you by God - but it's still a slab of earth and rock just like any other place on earth! What exactly do you want, Ron? I can go with you to synagogue on Saturdays! I can even celebrate the feasts and holidays with your family! But please, Ron—!"

"KP…!" he growled softly, his frown was as disparaging as the man in baggy black.

"Word of advice, Kimberly." Hershel too frowned. "Don't EVER construe this land as another slab of dirt, especially in front of a Zionist. We share a deep connection with this land - the smart Israelis do at least. It'd be like saying America and France are one in the same."

"They're NOT one in the same!" Tara exclaimed. "Sure the French Fries helped during the revolution - but that's about IT!"

Her makeshift clogs clomped on the floor as she jumped to her feet, but Yune coaxed her, reined her in with a grip on her wrist. The woman gestured at the girl with a sweep of her hand.

"Case in point - right there!" Hershel said. "But I'm sure Ron's willing to gloss over your infraction, given your state."

"Yep." He nodded. "This is just something I have to do, KP."

"Do what a man's got to do?" she sniffed. "Don't you dare pull that macho BS on me, Ronald Stoppable!"

"Have you been listening to me, KP?" Ron sighed. "At all? I'm not a little kid anymore. I'm ready to grow up, to be a man! I've been dead for the past 10 years, and it seems you can't get your head around that. I'm doing this for myself, KP - and in a sense… I'm doing this for you too."

"Oh - you are NOT doing this to protect me, Ronald!" she snarled.

"I never said I was, KP—"

"You DIDN'T HAVE TO!"

She gave into gravity's tug, letting herself flatten against the floor. She cringed, her face twisting so painfully. Her hands shot up to her face, cupping it, hiding it away from everyone. Her breath warm against her hot cheeks, the water had an easy time escaping her eyes. Her cries came out like coughs.

"Ronald…!" she cried. "Please…!"

Voices all around though close were hushed and distant, a challenge great for sounds to slip through her fingers.

"-Dreck! -" The medic beside cursed, she was sure.

"What?" Hershel said. "What is it?"

"No, she is -bleeding- again!" the medic exclaimed. "Wound must have torn open. Either way, we need her out of here now! Can I get a gurney over here?"

"All right." Hershel replied. "I'll spread the word around. Time to say goodbye, kids. Ron, you've got a serious choice to make. I'm sorry, but make it quick. Any other day, I'd give you more time but you've got till the gurney arrives."

"Yeah." Ron said. "Okay…."

Her hands slipped off her face, the cool air refreshing on her hot cheeks, cooler where the tears had trickled. A screech - a skittering clack, the squeaky wheels a piercing crescendo, growing fast. It was horrible; a shriek that her worn mind couldn't make sense of.

Already several pairs of hands were on her body, prying her off the ground. Their grips tight and firm, but they eased as soon as her back flushed against a soft-yet-firm slab just a few feet above the ground. Ron walked up to her side, looming over her fatherly.

"Ron…." She sniffed.

"I love you, Kim." His breath was warm on her cheek when he gave her a peck on the cheek. "Know that."

"I do." She nodded solemnly. "I too know I can't make you do anything you don't want…. You may stay here if you want. I'd be lying to say I was happy. I'm not - but I know how much this place means to you. There's one thing I'd like to ask you, Ron. No - not ask - rather promise me something."

"Of course, Kimberly." He smiled warmly. "Anything for you."

"I want you to promise…" she sniffed, "that you'll return someday."

"KP, I—" he couldn't finish.

Right now, she sure as hell wouldn't let him.

"Promise me, Ron." She said assertively. "Promise you'll come back."

"That I promise you, KP."

He leaned in for another peck, but sorrow drained not the strength from her limbs just yet. They held him, clutched him by the neck, his kiss a clammy smear on her cheek as she slipped her lips under his own. Ron took aback but her arms kept him still, and soon he too melted into her embraced. His tongue poked at her lips, slipping between them gingerly. Oh how she wanted more, how she wanted him to carry her away, far and far away—

—But it was not to be. Ronald could not carry her away; that was the medics' job, wheeling her on squeaky, trembling wheels away to a cold, sterile room. She slipped her head back as far as her neck would allow. Ron stood upside down, his solemn frown a smile from the angle. With a shake of his head he turned around, her final sight his backside walking away before the thick entryway swept over her view.

She sighed. Her chest trembled in sorrows shroud of an embrace as her eyes blinked a little more wetly.

Goodbye, Ronnie…. - she sniffed. -I love you…! -

Just like that, her thought had transcended into a shout.

"I LOVE YOU!"


	50. Epilogue

EPILOGUE

One year later….

"You, my friends, had said your goodbyes, beckoned your farewells to me."

Ronald couldn't help but remember, speaking memories into the microphone of the mini-cassette recorder in hand. Irrelevancy drowned in the deluge of memories, the simple snapshot pinched in his hand the keeper of the floodgates. Two faces stared back at him with glossy eyes, locked in time until the day the when picture dimmed irreparably. A boy with a mat of dirty blond hair and a fiery auburn standing together, holding each other in a playful embrace.

The auburn's eyes most striking, two large emerald gems that he could never push out of his mind. Ah… the good old days.

"Yune and Tara had left from me not a moment later." He said. "He clasped a hand onto my shoulder, giving it a shake. He had shot me a smile.

"'Do us proud.' He had said.

"Tara gave me a peck on the cheek, and a tight hug around the neck. She had wished me good luck, and said that she was missing me already. Basketball or football would never be as memorable without Middleton's own Mad Dog scampering about. Somehow, I believe that.

"I heard the relationship between Yune and her had gotten serious. Talks of marriage had been circling about, isn't that right?

"I'll have you know that Wade eventually had gotten out of juvenile hall, thanks to Ms. Hershel of course. His case had been permanently sealed due to his age, but that didn't keep the State Department off his ass. Last I heard he was still under close surveillance, a real blow to your future operations.

"Rufus stayed by my side, always the warm, squishy lump against my leg. Not that he had any choice in the matter.

"Kimberly… my Kimberly, the reason I'm making this tape. You'd been wheeled out on a gurney, your final call one of your love. At least that's what Hershel had said. Oh - how I longed for that. It was a real drag that I couldn't hear it, KP. The acoustics of the Dome of the Rock were screwy. But it was true! I knew that deep down in the bottomless pit that was my stomach. If only I had called back to you…. Hell - you probably hate me now.

"Israel had gotten back on its feet with much help from the US, much to the dissatisfaction of its neighbors. Even Russia cringed at our recovery. Their warm water port and the chance for oil denied yet again! Our country bumpkin cousins complain about us still, despite the efforts of Chairman Habib Abd-al-Latif. Chatter suggests he's about to be overthrown in favor of a hardliner, some rabid bastard from Syria. Not that the UN or EU give a damn. Back to normalcy alright!

"Dr. Phil spilled the beans when corrupted files of an OS were found in the siege weapon's hard drives - the most important OS in a sense. MAT, the Mobile Automated Turret system ripped off from Sadie's source code was designed to be the core of their organization, entrusted with tactics and decision making when Drazen passed on. But with the detonation above Megiddo, the resulting EMP practically wiped the hard disks clean.

"On that note, I'm pleased to say that you don't have to worry about the VSA anymore. Against a large attack force - say… the Israeli Defense Forces - without the MAT program, the VSA is nothing but rebels without a clue. How true that is! Nowadays, they're nothing but a vindictive watchdog group - with a bigger government pit-bull watching them on threadbare leash. Word from the Knesset suggests they're about to be disbanded for good.

"Through a mess of international PR and oversight comities, Uzziel Lichtenfeld Drazen's better half had been exhumed from the rubble. You probably saw it on the news back in Middleton, I'm sure. His legs ignored, not important strangely enough. His remains are being currently held in an undisclosed location. Most likely they torched it, finishing the work we started on the Temple Mount.

"Then again, Hershel did mention something called the 'Unknown's Legacy' yet it was only in passing. I don't know what the hell that's supposed to mean. Does it have something to do with that character Dr. Phil mentioned back in the Organ Grinder? Bin-Mok, Stark, and you haven't returned my calls and no one I've spoken to know what it is or where it is. The higher ups around are being purposefully vague, dancing around the issue at every pass. It seems no one wants to talk about it, like Israel's dirty little secret. I was hoping you could help.

"It doesn't matter anymore. Israel's still alive. I'm still alive, carrying on the traditions of Team Possible on my half of the globe. After Drazen's bloody defeat, I was given government training - the sort of training best kept off the record for security reasons. Though officially freelance, I do... -work- occasionally for Mossad and even Shin Bet. People across the globe probably have seen my handiwork though they wouldn't suspect it was I. Officially, I died when the trauma to my head overwhelmed me. You know, when Drazen smacked my head into the ground. Swelling of the brain or some -dreck-, I don't know.

"Don't cry for me, KP. Even as a child, somehow I knew I wasn't meant to be anywhere else but here. Israel: land of the great God that had proven Himself in May of '48. After two thousand years in Diaspora, my people finally had a place to call home, in the very same place the good Lord had promised the ancient patriarch millennia ago. I am proud to call this place my home.

"I am finally home, KP. I am still alive, regardless of what Mossad fed to the news agencies around the globe. You're the reason I made this tape, KP, as I said before. It's been a long time, KP, and my love for you has never been stronger. If you get anything from this tape, should you've made it this far, I just wanted you to know that. What happens after you get this tape, play it hopefully, is a choice that I leave up to you.

Time always his enemy, jerking black hands of the clock chopping a little more away at his free time. With his next assignment just several jerks of the long hand away, he feathered firm pressure upon the stop button.

"Till we meet again, Kimberly."

Click! –

He couldn't have said the whole tape better himself.

XXX

After half a workday idle on her desktop, her phone had found time to ring off its cradle. It was about time. Her drumming fingers could use the break from the faux wood.

"Yell-o…!" she said.

"'Yell-o' to you too, you skinny bitch." The growl rough and boisterous was like music to her waiting ears. After half a day with the empty howl of the AC hollering overhead, even Schoenberg could pass off for Rossini easily. "My you sound garbled today!"

"Never mind the voice alteration, Mr. Titus." She leaned back against her high-back chair, the foam engulfing her backside. "I'm surprised though, you're a little bit early. It'd be a lie to say that I wasn't expecting you, but that's beside the point. May I ask why you're reporting just now?"

"Time, for one thing." The man replied gruffly. "Did you know that Israel goes from sunset to sunset? I didn't. And I can tell you that it gets quite confusing!"

"The world has GMT for that exact reason." She frowned. "You should know that you're GMT+1 over in Tel Aviv."

"And to think that I was running a little late." Titus' sigh was hoarse.

"It doesn't matter anymore." She said. "What have you to report?"

"As you well know, it's been about one year since the travesty on Temple Mount." Vespasian replied. "Uzziel Lichtenfeld Drazen is finally dead, his army detained and his remains buried underneath a ton of rubble that used to the be second bulge on the mount's eastern wall.

"Since that day, Palestinian Chairman Abd-al-Latif had amazingly denied Israeli Prime Minister Irit's offer of the Temple Mount. Safe to say that it threw the Palestinians in an uproar. Pursuing a policy of peaceful coexistence with Israel despite hawks and critics in the Palestinian Authority, he's practically out on his ass. It won't be long till his health is scheduled to fail him."

"Yes," the tip of her finger rubbed at her chin, "flocking for the 'candidate' from Syria."

"Precisely." Titus said. "Just as we predicted. Just like Habib's predecessor, this guy's a hardliner. Trust me, this guy wont stop till Israel's thrown into the Mediterranean. But whatever you do, just don't touch him. He's copasetic with us. Scratch his back and he'll scratch ours."

"Good." A smirk crept across her face. "That could further our cause in the Middle East sooner than we expected. With Apollyon and certain initiatives coming to the intelligence community's light, we have queen daffodil by his balls. We'll dangle him over the sidewinders' nest when America's finally out of The Quartet! Of course we dare not speak of this to Prime Minister Irit, shall we?"

"Biting the hand that feeds you?" Titus asked. "Despite the fact they're secretly one of your biggest contributors? Going against the US isn't exactly a smart move, especially in this political climate. You've seen what they were willing to do to get their greedy hands on Colonel Drazen's kid."

"I know." She nodded. "Considering Gladius, we couldn't let America hog Uzziel all for themselves. That would put everything in jeopardy, everything we've been planning for the past 50 years. They've had their turn being king of the world. It's time for someone else to have a turn. Uzziel shall be our atom bomb. America and Israel as Hiroshima and Nagasaki."

"Yes." Titus agreed. "America and Israel are finished. They've had their fun. Our time has finally arrived."

"There's only one thing that can stop us, despite all efforts to prevent." She took in a breath. "Anything can unravel like a cheap scarf regardless of its tight weaves. Tell me, Mr. Titus, what exactly is being done about this free-radical?"

"If you're speaking of Team Possible, I wouldn't lose much sleep over it." The man replied. "Kimberly still is furthering justice's cause despite what she's seen and felt during her time in Israel. But it's strictly small time, just a stubborn bank robber or mugger. A single person can do only so much. A single person can do jack shit to make a shred of difference, regardless of what the TV says. I think she learned that lesson quite well - in Drazen's torture room."

"Oh?" She nodded thoughtfully. "Are you the one who got her in that mess?"

"Not really." Titus said. "I was still planning her demise at the time, making it look like a victim of a suicide bombing. Her capture by the VSA was far better than what I could come up with. Lady Luck smiled down on me that day, and it worked well considering the result. No more saving a world that doesn't need it. That's our job, after all."

"What about her boyfriend?" she asked. "The blond?"

"I've lost track of him." He replied. "Most likely Mossad or Shin Bet recruited him. Considering the list of people that died recently, they were all at Israel's convenience. Still, I am confident that he does not pose a threat. As far as I know, Israel is still in the dark about us."

"Don't get cocky!" She said warningly. "You're talking about one of the best intelligence networks on the planet, Mr. Titus. This is probably the reason why I've considering moving our TOC. What's word on the Organ Grinder?"

"I am sorry to report that Organ Grinder has completely collapsed." He replied. "I know it was an option when the VSA had gone, but the grotto's far too small for what we've planned. Besides, Israel's antiquity authority is throwing a fit over the destruction of King Solomon's Mine. Besides, I heard the lowest levels are like a third world slaughterhouse. Fitting not of our great organization!"

Utensils clattered like silverware when her fist met the desk.

"Another thing we can thank Possible for." She growled. "Shit."

"Don't frown just yet." He replied. "There's some good news that I have to report today."

"What's that?" she asked.

"Today I can report to you that Unknown's Legacy is safely with us, ma'am." He said coolly. "In the world's hands, where it belongs. "

Wheels underneath squealed when she sprang forward, elbows her support on her desk.

"Truly?" she blinked.

"Yes," he replied, "It took some doing, but I've managed to have it sneaked out from under little missy's nose. Everyone has a price and it seems that Israelis are no exception.

"Unknown's Legacy, the genomic code of one of the greatest soldiers that World War II had to offer. Uzziel's body is the 95 percent reproduction of that genomic code. Hell - it wouldn't be wrong to say that Drazen's body -is- the Unknown's Legacy. This will put our research ahead by at least 50 years overnight. But we've hit a snag: Uzziel's body only offers over 90 percent of the code. Part of the genome is still missing. I'm sure his twin has the remaining 5 percent. If only we could find his twin, that is."

"It doesn't matter." She ran a hand through her short hair, her cold palm refreshing on her scalp. "Unknown's Legacy is what I've been waiting for over a year! With it in our custody, I can sleep a little easier. There's nothing Israel can do to stop us - not even the United States! You've done well, Vespasian Titus. Expect a briefcase packed full of euros on your doorstep within the week."

"Thank you." He replied. "With money as good as yours, I'm always at Global Justice's disposal…"

A wide smirk pulled at her lips firmly; it was undeniable!

"Doctor Director."

THE END

"For Zion's sake, I cannot keep silent…." - Isaiah 62:1

(YES! It's finally DONE! I wish to thank all those who've supported me over the course of this work; Hyperactive Hamster of Doom, Yamal, Forgotten466, Continental-Line, CaptainKodak1, and all others who've supported me. Hopefully, this will not be the last entry in the KP universe, but still I need time to recooperate and think of fresh ideas.

(On that note, if any fan-sequels are actually in the works - by all means LET THEM COMMENCE!

(Thank you,

(-Godhand's Number-)


End file.
